


look at you go

by kevystel



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anxiety, Borderline Personality Disorder, College, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Gen, Insomnia, M/M, Makeup, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Oblivious Heartbreaker Katsuki Yuuri, Pining, Self-Esteem Issues, Teenagers, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Romantic Tension, merman au (kinda)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-17 00:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 41,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11264454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kevystel/pseuds/kevystel
Summary: a collection of prompts, ficlets and other shitposts from tumblr, featuring high school au, lovecraftian monster au, katsuki yuuri being unintentionally beautiful, and more





	1. high school au

high school au where every time katsuki yuuri walks past viktor nikiforov gasps and softly whispers ‘i’m gay’ to which his entire lunch table responds with a chorus of ‘we know’

‘i hope someday he’ll notice me,’ thinks yuuri wistfully, sitting three rows behind VIKTOR NIKIFOROV in calculus while viktor is mentally rehearsing his WILL YOU GO TO PROM WITH ME? invitation to katsuki yuuri, the love of his life, via interpretive dance

obviously ( _obviously_ ), yuuri hears through the grapevine that viktor nikiforov has a crush and spends the rest of the term moping. little does he know that viktor is at this very moment drawing little hearts around the cyrillic for ‘yuri nikiforov’ in his english lit notebook. yuri plisetsky, a freshman, wishes he could transfer schools

this all comes to a head in the most Extra™ manner possible when viktor discovers to his horror that KATSUKI YUURI, THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE, has been despondent for a month thinking that viktor likes someone else. viktor immediately takes action to correct this misunderstanding and by action i mean he approaches yuuri during lunch period and by ‘approaches yuuri’ i mean he spots yuuri across the packed cafeteria and rushes towards him shouting ‘move i’m gay’ as the masses part before viktor like the red sea

‘yuuri, sweetheart, why don’t you just ask him out?’ says christophe sympathetically, trying to nudge True Love™ in the right direction and also help out his best friend viktor, whom christophe loves & supports & wants to see happy

‘i don’t think he knows i exist,’ yuuri admits

‘ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME,’ yuri plisetsky shouts, flinging his phone at the wall

also viktor definitely turns up at yuuri’s house in the middle of the night to throw pebbles at his bedroom window. that is a thing that happens

yuuri brings viktor a slightly squashed flower he picked from the field on his way to class and viktor cries bc it’s so romantic even though yuuri literally walked up to him with the line ‘i found this on the ground and thought of you’

* * *

**[queerryouta](http://queerryouta.tumblr.com/) asked: high school au**

_five times viktor nikiforov tried to ask katsuki yuuri out_

_**1.** WILL YOU GO TO PROM WITH ME_ , the card reads. There are little hearts doodled around the margins of the rose-gold embossed paper. A thin silver ribbon forms the border framing Viktor’s hand-lettered invitation in sweet cursive and jet-black ink. The paper is lightly scented with a tasteful spritz of his mother’s Chanel No. 5. Mila talked Viktor out of his original plan, which involved the football team, cheerleading squad and marching band all forming the words of Viktor’s proposal on the field at their next match. In retrospect, Viktor agrees with her. That might have been a little over the top.

Viktor hopes this isn’t too subtle for Yuuri.

‘Oh,’ Yuuri says. His cheeks are dusty pink, and the flush is only deepening. He clutches the card in his lovely hands, wrinkling the (very expensive, perfumed, tissue-fine) paper slightly. His palms are sweaty. Viktor wants to give Yuuri his letterman jacket. Viktor does not own a letterman jacket. ‘Do you, uh…’ Yuuri blinks his beautiful long eyelashes and bites his beautiful bottom lip. His big brown eyes are beginning to softly fill with tears. ‘Who do you need me to pass this to?’

 

 _ **2.**_ Viktor taps Yuuri on the shoulder in statistics class.

If you say it to his face, goes the logic, there’s no way he _won’t_ interpret your expression of undying affection as being meant for him.

However, Viktor is struck dumb by the sight of Yuuri’s gorgeous face, and his carefully prepared _Do you want to go on a date with me?_ becomes ‘Do you have date? I mean, do you… do you. Date? Um. Do you have the date?’

‘It’s October 3rd,’ Yuuri replies, and immediately turns around again and buries his face in his textbook.

 

 _ **3.**_  ‘I’m really gay,’ whispers Viktor involuntarily when he walks into the locker room to find Yuuri bent over a bench and lacing up his shoes, those tight gym shorts riding up a little bit.

Yuuri looks down at his shoes, the set of his mouth despondent. He pulls the hem of his gym shirt lower to hide his round belly. 

‘That’s nice, Viktor.’

 

 _ **4.**_ ‘I would literally _die_ for you, Yuuri,’ Viktor says as they sit on the bleachers together. They are holding hands. Yuuri is wearing Viktor’s scarf. Viktor brought roses.

‘Please don’t,’ Yuuri says. ‘I like you alive.’

 

 _ **5.**_ Viktor hopes Yuuri comes to the window soon, because Viktor is running out of pebbles. He’d have to go further down the road to find more, and it’s very dark and Viktor might get hit by a car. Viktor doesn’t want to die without ever having kissed Katsuki Yuuri, a travesty of missed opportunities, a tragic footnote left to gather dust in desk drawers for all eternity.

‘It’s two in the fucking morning,’ says Yuuri.

‘Yuuri, _please_ ,’ yells Viktor. ‘Please let me be your boyfriend, Yuuri. I’ll do my best. I’ve tried everything. I did everything the way they do it in movies —’

‘I, I don’t. I don’t really watch a lot of movies?’ says Yuuri. He looks down at Viktor standing underneath his bedroom window, seeming dazed. Then he scratches the back of his head. He gazes at a spot somewhere on the windowsill for a long moment, his eyelashes low and fluttering on his cheeks. ‘Do you want to come up?’

This is not the Russian way, thinks Viktor as he shoves his hands in his coat pockets and marches over to the front door.


	2. THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD, part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: @the viktuuri au u just reblogged BUT WHICH ONE is the most beautiful man in the world and which is the trash monster I could honestly see either

[the more obvious au version](http://kevystel.tumblr.com/post/158908027565) is yuuri as trash monster so let’s do the other one instead. the first time viktor nikiforov meets the most beautiful man in the world, viktor’s hungover and his bedhead is awful and he’s just spilled groggy morning coffee all over his shoes. viktor’s struggling with his mailbox and cursing in russian, and when he finally gets the mailbox open a stream of letters spills out and he almost drops his coffee a second time. now, viktor knows, objectively, that he is Beautiful, but today is not a Beautiful Day for viktor. naturally that’s when a hand wavers into viktor’s bleary line of vision, and somebody clears his throat, and then that somebody is crouching down to help viktor gather up his mail and viktor comes face to face with THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD.

‘um,’ says THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD.

fuck my life, viktor thinks. what viktor actually says is: 

‘hi. thank you. that’s very kind of you. i’m viktor nikiforov.’

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD probably doesn’t give a shit if viktor is viktor nikiforov. he is too beautiful to care. viktor watches THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD walk away, and then viktor tiredly stuffs all the letters under his arm and sips what’s left of his hangover coffee.

it tastes like shit.

viktor’s been living in this apartment building for a very long time. viktor lives alone, unless you count his dog (he does). viktor is single. viktor has been single for a very long time. except on valentine’s day every year, which is when christophe giacometti comes over and viktor buzzes him up and they give each other beautiful plastic bouquets and say, deadpan, ‘fake flowers for a fake ho,’ and then they make out.

viktor’s pretty happy with this tradition until he stumbles out post-sweaty fuck and nearly runs headlong into THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD and viktor is, like……….smelly and sticky and there are used condoms in the trash bag viktor’s taking out and everything’s gross OH GOD IS THERE LUBE ON MY SHIRT and then chris appears in the doorway behind viktor like ‘babe can you throw this out too’ and there are awkward hellos, and viktor realises: from the perspective of THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD, chris is viktor’s boyfriend.

well fuck.

so because this is the obvious solution, and because chris is a good friend, the next day chris runs over to viktor’s apartment again and fake-breaks up with viktor, and there is yelling and crying and throwing things. IT’S LOUD. IT’S SUPER EFFECTIVE. viktor cries very beautifully, and he thinks this is a talent he should exploit. viktor daydreams about THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD gently wiping the beautiful tears from viktor’s beautiful cheeks with his thumb, and brushing the hair back from viktor’s forehead to kiss it, and cuddling up to viktor with a long sigh like the sound of soft morning rain and tilting his mouth up to viktor’s, eyes fluttering shut, opening to viktor like a flower turning to the sun.

this does not happen.

what happens is: viktor’s out for his morning jog when he realises that, amid all the fake-yelling and throwing things, he accidentally swept into the trash something very important chris gave him (it’s not a dildo. ~~ok maybe it’s a dildo~~   ~~THE BOX IS UNOPENED, SO THIS IS STILL HYGIENIC~~  VIKTOR DOESN’T FEEL VERY HYGIENIC) it’s not a dildo. it’s probably more like… idk, tax/insurance forms. so viktor is like SHIT and races back to his building to find the thing (that is not a dildo) before the garbage people take it away, and meanwhile the sun’s come up and viktor’s hair is sticking to his forehead and he’s panting and he’s already stressed out and super gross.

while viktor is literally being a trash monster and digging through the dumpster for The Thing That Is Not A Dildo, sweaty from his run and gross from DIGGING IN A DUMPSTER and wearing his worn-out jogging pants and shoes, who should turn up but THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD.

VIKTOR CAN’T CATCH A BREAK.

‘are you… okay?’ asks THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD. his voice is very soft, and his eyes are a lovely dark brown. he looks slightly alarmed. 

‘YOU’RE FINE,’ says viktor. ‘I MEAN… I’M FINE. I’M. JUST LOOKING FOR SOMETHING. IN THE TRASH. DO YOU WANT TO HELP?’

‘o….kay,’ THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD says. he kneels down beside viktor and gingerly allows his beauty to be defiled by contact with gross garbage things viktor does not want to think about. god viktor would spend all day on his knees in front of THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD if he could. viktor did not just say that out loud.

‘sorry about the noise last night,’ viktor says, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. it doesn’t matter. every inch of him is gross. ‘it was a messy breakup.’

‘oh. don’t worry about it,’ THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD mumbles, glancing away. after a long pause, he asks (again): ‘are you okay?’

‘couldn’t be better!!!!’ says viktor. viktor’s got a bit of a playboy reputation. it’s a bit undeserved. he’s not being very smooth right now. ‘by the way, i never got your name.’ super smooth. the smoothest. the most suave and irresistible playboy on earth.

‘it’s yuuri,’ says THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD.

‘yuuri!!!!’ viktor gasps, picking potato peels out of his hair. ‘the most beautiful name on earth!!!!! what the FUCK did i just step on?’

(’chris tell me i’m beautiful,’ viktor hisses into the phone later.

‘you’re beautiful!!!!’ replies chris, who loves viktor a lot, and is beautiful together with viktor a lot. ‘not as beautiful as THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD, though. sorry.’

‘I ALREADY KNOW THAT,’ viktor says. ‘DON’T MAKE ME LAUGH.’)

viktor catches the flu at his workplace and comes home sniffling and miserable and red-eyed and just kind of leans against the wall outside the lifts in the lobby. and then of course, because OF COURSE, yuuri (THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD) walks through the doors of the building and comes into the lobby and presses the lift button.

they wait for the lift to come.

viktor sneezes six times.

‘are you… okay,’ says yuuri.

‘i think i’m sick,’ viktor says, sniffling some more. there is mucus dripping down onto his upper lip. yuuri looks beautiful and concerned. WHY CAN’T YUURI EVER SEE VIKTOR WHEN VIKTOR IS BEING BEAUTIFUL.

‘oh,’ says yuuri, who does not seem to talk very much. the lift dings. they step into the lift. yuuri presses the button for his floor, and then he presses the button for viktor’s floor, since it is not a good idea for viktor to get flu germs all over the lift buttons. viktor has to stand at the other side of the lift, far away from yuuri, so he doesn’t give yuuri his germs. WHY IS VIKTOR’S LIFE LIKE THIS.

‘do you want me. to make you. some chicken soup or something,’ yuuri says.

‘i’d love that,’ viktor says, a bit teary.

yuuri bites his lip. ‘you don’t look so good.’

‘i’m usually very handsome,’ says viktor helplessly, blowing his nose. ‘really, i’m… trust me, i look better than this most days.’

????? goes yuuri. ‘but you’re the most beautiful man in the world??????’


	3. THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN IN THE WORLD, part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aubreyli said: BUT LIKE OKAY SO YOU’RE WRITING THIS, RIGHT? THIS IS A THING YOU’RE DOING? YOU’RE DONE ALL YOUR WIPS AND YOU ARE GOING TO DO THIS FOR THE GOODNESS OF THE WORLD YES?

the world’s most beautiful man lives in yuuri’s apartment building, and his name is viktor nikiforov. yuuri is uncomfortably aware of viktor nikiforov’s existence, and also knows with deep despair & certainty that he will never be worthy of viktor nikiforov, as viktor nikiforov who lives on the 16th floor is… like, a god, a _god_ , okay, and next to him sludgy greasy poorly dressed katsuki yuuri resembles something stuck to the sole of one’s shoe. viktor has gorgeous cheekbones and gorgeous everything, the way he _moves_ is gorgeous, and every time yuuri sees him walking his dog or chatting with the landlady or getting his mail, yuuri’s heart curls up inside his chest and dies a little bit. maybe someday he might get to breathe the same air as viktor nikiforov.

phichit says yuuri should bake cookies and bring them over. yuuri thinks this is a terrible idea for the following reasons:

  1. that is just a really unsubtle way of all-but-screaming at your crush _I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE_
  2. viktor nikiforov looks like he eats beautiful food off expensive glassware and he will taste the grocery store cookie mix in the first bite, his beautiful face will change and twist with contempt, and he will look up reproachfully and yuuri will shrivel into a dried leaf and do everyone a favour by never leaving his apartment or speaking again.
  3. baking cookies for your neighbours is a thing people do when they’ve just moved in. yuuri has been living here longer than viktor nikiforov, and when viktor nikiforov moved in with his beautiful poodle and his beautiful HAIR and his ASS and his RUNWAY MODEL SMILE he certainly didn’t bake anyone cookies. so it’s on viktor nikiforov to show up at yuuri’s door with a tray of freshly baked cookies!! which viktor nikiforov will never do!!! as he doesn’t know yuuri exists!!!! yes. good. very safe. nothing will ever happen. yuuri goes out and bakes himself three batches of cookies instead of thinking about it.



‘yuuri, it’s okay. you don’t have to bake anyone cookies. that’s just one way of doing it,’ phichit says. ‘like, i mean, the principle of it. it’s okay to make friends with your neighbours.’

‘not when your neighbour is VIKTOR NIKIFOROV,’ yuuri says, and stuffs three spoonfuls of gelato into his mouth to avoid having more of this conversation.

the worst day of yuuri’s life is the day his boss yells at him one too many times for something that wasn’t yuuri’s fault (jk everything is yuuri’s fault), and yuuri has to go lock himself in the employees’ bathroom for a while, and stop at a petrol station to get donuts on the way back to make himself feel better. it doesn’t work. 

yuuri’s never been so grateful to reach his apartment building in his life. he stops at the row of mailboxes to check for letters, moving on autopilot, and there’re papers scattered across the grimy floor and yuuri stoops to gather them up. his eyes burn, and the world’s shivering around him in a kind of daze. then he straightens up, the letters in his arms, and comes face to face with viktor nikiforov.

the last remnant of yuuri’s will to live withers and dies.

‘hi,’ says viktor nikiforov. he sounds puzzled, because yuuri is probably staring at him like a creeper. his hair is rumpled. his shirt is slipping off one shoulder. he smells of coffee and something darkly intoxicating. yuuri smells like someone who has been crying for two hours in a filthy bathroom with his shoes in a puddle of something yuuri doesn’t want to think about.

‘akjsdhflasfg,’ says yuuri. 

viktor nikiforov _looks_ at him. yuuri has glazed donut sugar around the corners of his mouth and his tie is undone. he’s wearing mismatched socks because he lost one of them in the laundry. his apartment is full of dirty dishes. there is a new zit on his forehead and the underarm areas of his work shirt are probably dark with sweat. all these flaws rise to the surface under viktor nikiforov’s sleepy, gorgeous, half-lidded gaze, and bubble unbearably at the forefront of yuuri’s mind, and god yuuri wishes ONE THING about his day could go right for once. he doesn’t deserve more than this. 

this is humiliating, yuuri thinks.

yuuri turns around and walks away.


	4. accidental heartbreaker katsuki yuuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: you are the first person i would trust in writing the chronicles of yuuri katsuki being a certified accidental heartbreaker, encompassing his conquests from hasetsu to detroit to even the streets of russia

katsuki yuuri looks so lost and tired and terrified during freshers week that every fratboy throughout the entire campus of wayne state university feels the urge to die defending him. football star players hold doors open for yuuri. burned-out law students offer him their energy drinks. the welfare reps smile at him in the corridors. the cleaning lady on the fourth floor of the library and the janitor in charge of the bathroom where yuuri goes to cry are very, very fond of yuuri, which is something yuuri can get used to and is comfortable with. crusty old professors on tenure wake up cursing the godforsaken drunken hormone-ridden and lazy creatures that are college students and then yuuri walks past the open doorways of their classrooms on his way to a lecture and the professors feel their spirits lift momentarily. who is this boy. who is he, ask the hockey players who hang back after their practice as yuuri gently, unobtrusively, but firmly commandeers the ice rink for the rest of the evening. who is he, say the dance majors, flicking through the names of everyone they know yet unable to place the guy who effortlessly picks up break-dancing and pole-dancing like he was born for this. who is he, wonders the cashier at the breakfast shop in st. petersburg where yuuri comes every morning to ask for a coffee in his hesitant yet charming russian. they will never know. he slips from their minds instantly. he comes into their lives like a whisper of butterfly wings and glides on, oblivious, having made numerous strangers’ days just that little bit better and left a trail of conquered hearts in his wake

KATSUKI YUURI

* * *

yuuri has been on like 2 terrible dates and participated in a somewhat larger number of clumsy, fumbling, horribly embarrassed handjobs/blowjobs in corridors at midnight parties. phichit is fully ready to kill on yuuri’s behalf but he will not get the chance to since yuuri will never breathe a word of this to phichit, ever. the next morning when these boys try to say hi to yuuri on their way to lectures yuuri marches straight past them, his pulse thumping unbearably and his face burning, and the countless hopelessly infatuated and undeserving guys, who had their minds blown and their standards impossibly raised by yuuri’s flushed-cheeks-shy-smile-stammering-dark-eyelashes beauty, feel their hearts shatter into a million pieces

on the one hand i want to hear more about yuuri’s college boyfriends yet on the other hand i feel like he has only ever had week-long flings at most, as i like the notion of him never having had a boyfriend in his life. barring the 1-month um-it’s-nothing-i-just-suck-his-dick-sometimes-and-in-exchange-he-brings-me-flowers-and-calls-me-beautiful-i-don’t-know-why-is-this-normal??? arrangement, which ended in quiet disaster and phichit screaming at the dude for 2h for cheating on yuuri. ‘but it wasn’t cheating?’ says yuuri, genuinely confused. ‘we weren’t in a relationship?’

yuuri takes hours to text back. people think he’s ignoring them or uninterested OR, YOU KNOW, BUSY WINNING COMPETITIONS AND BEING A NATIONAL FIGURE SKATING CHAMPION, but really he is staring at his phone screen and feeling the hot tongues of anxiety slowly lick up from his chest all the way to his throat. a brief ‘ok’ from yuuri makes all these boys throw their phones up into the air in triumph. a smiley face gives them heart palpitations. eventually people just stop allowing themselves to approach the astonishingly beautiful, uncommunicative, undemonstrative and elusive katsuki yuuri, and yuuri is relieved that the universe has righted itself and everybody has at last recognised that he is not worth their time

* * *

there are so many tantalising videos on phichit’s instagram of yuuri dish-or-laundry-dancing to telephone and flawless (remix feat. nicki minaj) and other classics of our time that guys refuse to believe yuuri doesn’t have social media. ‘not even facebook?’ they demand. ‘no…?’ says yuuri, his eyes sliding away so quickly that his admirers immediately suspect that yuuri has social media accounts he just doesn’t want them to find out about, and feel a sharp twinge of insecurity

‘yuuri,’ shouts the latest guy in his strong texan drawl, ‘why the hell didn’t you tell me you were a champion figure skater?’ ‘because i’m not a champion figure skater,’ yuuri replies, biting his lip. texas guy realises that katsuki yuuri is blatantly pretending to be someone he’s not just to get rid of him, and walks away, his heart heavy with disappointment and mentally vowing to never again pursue soft coffeeshop boys with pretty eyes and hearts of stone

* * *

the feeling yuuri creates in people isn’t _heartbroken_ , more like. wistful. a little sad when they remember him, but in a good way. nostalgic. they don’t regret meeting him. they were fortunate to have encountered katsuki yuuri. yuuri, whose hasetsu high school’s students still make a point of gathering in empty classrooms to livestream his skates, even though he’s long since graduated and most of them have never even met him, bc his school is so damn proud of katsuki yuuri. yuuri, whose classmates invariably nominated him to choreograph the class [performances](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DKAPHaVqaNmg&t=OTdmNzQxZGUyZDg1ODI2NmUwYjEwNWQ4ZGFkNzQwZjA3NjQxNjFlMyxFWVhnZDZmVw%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F156929849435%2Fi-love-all-of-your-yuuri-mysterious-heartbreaker&m=1) for those school festivals/talent showcases that seem to happen everywhere, and who was shy and worried about it but delivered _beautifully_. now, when the dozens of acquaintances in japan and america whose lives were blessed by having brushed yuuri’s in passing think of yuuri (ie whenever hello by adele comes on the radio), they nod and smile. yes. truly. they should have known. only viktor nikiforov, russia’s living legend, the best skater in men’s singles history, was worthy to win the heart of katsuki yuuri

* * *

**Anonymous asked: pls I will give all my limbs as sacrifice for more ficlets/drabbles of how all the frat boys, college sport teams, his classmates, and the college staff adore and revere yuuri katsuki who just does not see it-- how the ones with a crush on him think about his butt and thighs but also his eyes/laugh/smile etc., how the ones who want to be his friend daydream about hanging out with him, how the teachers wipe away a single stray tear bc finally they have met such a rare respectful exemplary student**

[softly] oh boy

katsuki yuuri never says anything in class and the profs don’t call on him bc wtf, this isn’t high school. but they might wonder how he’s doing and whether he’s following the tutorial at all bc he is so goddamn quiet. then the week before a big paper is due yuuri comes to office hours and shyly shows them his outline/draft and asks them to correct any glaring mistakes they can point out at this stage and his soft earnest eyes and low voice cause a tiny leafy shoot to sprout in the jaded & malnourished soil of every professor’s heart. this, this is the reason they took up teaching

yuuri goes to the same campus sandwich shop to either comfort eat or cool down with a nice drink after his trainings and the cashiers rapidly become attuned to this mysterious & gorgeous boy (as [@kixboxer](https://tmblr.co/mtPsh9UiDpFkwgGsyAfXmBA) put it: ‘please beautiful international student don’t cry’). soon he is a fixture of campus. people look out for him. people nudge their friends and whisper about sandwich shop boy in the back of the café. there he is. you thought you’d never see him. well now you have been blessed, take a good long look buddy bc you’ll never see anybody so beautiful for the rest of your life

yuuri, who is nursing a salted caramel frappucino with extra whipped cream that he shouldn’t be having as he is an Athlete on a Diet, but fuck you he had such a shitty day, is either unaware of the glances of admiration & undying love from all these bored white people or thinks they’re laughing at him and leaves as soon as he can, cupping his cold drink in his hands, his face burning

there is probably a twitter account dedicated to recording sightings of sandwich shop boy. after the third blurry photo taken from a distance, phichit finds out and shuts that shit down bc it’s REALLY FUCKING CREEPY, DON’T YOU HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO, JEEZ

there are so many people of various genders who daydream about making yuuri laugh. slinging their arm casually around his shoulders in the hallway, or feeding him chips on the battered old couch in the common room. listening to his itunes library, sending him song recommendations. letting him shyly explain that the reason he has so much mozart and dvorak is he likes to skate his programs to classical music. kissing his cheek, or his sweet mouth, or his softest plumpest butt in the world, and stroking back his dark hair to keep it out of the most beautiful eyes. these fantasies will never come true. ‘phichit? he’s my only friend,’ says yuuri matter-of-factly when asked. every person who has helped yuuri with his papers or otherwise interacts with yuuri regularly and blissfully thought they were friends feels their heart break

* * *

yuuri had college bad habits down pat even before he went to college. yuuri is a walking Bad Life Choice. yuuri goes to class in baggy sweatpants and nasty hoodies designed to conceal the thick thighs and chub that make him so very unattractive. he hasn’t combed his hair in six days and he had black coffee and red bull for breakfast. the reality, of course, is that yuuri smells of soft laundry soap and has such long eyelashes all his classmates wonder why katsuki yuuri bothers to put on mascara in the mornings yet shows up in his pajamas, and his terrible dark circles give his big soft brown eyes just that much more definition. yuuri is asked out for coffee on a particularly bad Anxiety Day and yuuri’s brain instantly jumps to the conclusion that he’s being mocked for how tired he is and how clearly he is in need of a caffeine fix, and yuuri turns around and flees, leaving distress and broken hearts and concern in his wake and screaming internally that he should just go back to japan where nobody wants him

anyway in st. petersburg viktor drapes himself over yuuri at every opportunity and tells him how lovely he is in english and russian and japanese and french. (these long rants incidentally make up 99.5% of viktor’s sex talk) yurio rolls his eyes but says nothing because viktor always gives yurio a few minutes to stow away his yuuri posters before entering yurio’s room. yuuri smiles at viktor’s over-the-top ridiculousness and maybe, someday, just maybe, he might let himself believe it


	5. hogwarts au (kinda)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kixboxer asked: Kidfic

_Nineteen Years Later_

‘Yura Phichit Katsuki-Nikiforov, you were named after two of the bravest men I ever knew,’ Yuuri said, crouching down to put his hands on his son’s shoulders. He paused. ‘Okay, honestly, that’s also because we thought it’d be funny to make sure Yuri Plisetsky gets called Yurio by everyone else for the rest of his life to avoid mix-ups. And Yakov said “over my dead body” to any child of Viktor’s being named after him. _Anyway_ —’ He kissed Yura’s forehead warmly. ‘— don’t worry about the Sorting Hat, okay? It’s a deeply flawed system invented by four dead people to organise eleven-year-olds according to arbitrary character traits. Except if you’re in Hufflepuff, you need to be careful if you’re in Hufflepuff. They’re right over the kitchen. I binge-ate nearly my weight in food while I was at Hogwarts.’

‘You were in Slytherin,’ said Yura.

‘I had my ways.’

The train was beginning to honk, so Yuuri stood up and guided their son to the edge of the platform with a hand on his back. ‘Have a good time, okay?’ He shot a glance at Viktor, who had been beyond words throughout all this. ‘Vitya?’

‘I love you, Yura,’ Viktor said, blowing his nose noisily on a £700 handkerchief.

They stood watching, hand in hand, until the train vanished into the distance. 

Viktor’s receding hairline had not pained him for nineteen years. All was well.


	6. lovecraftian monster au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Trope: Mermaids?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE MERMAID AU ALSO EXPLAINS VIKTOR’S FOOT FETISH

THIS MAKES SO MUCH SENSE

why does viktor show up at yuuri’s house stark naked? because he’s a merman. mermen don’t wear clothes. why does he drag everyone mercilessly for like the first 2 episodes before kinda finding his groove and softening up? because he’s a merman. he’s spent his whole life communicating through blowing bubbles underwater give him a break. let him pick up some human social skills. why does viktor own a ridiculous number of designer items? because he’s a merman and has no concept of human currency. why is he so extra about everything (and especially yuuri) all day every day? because he’s a merman. YOU HAVE TO BE SUPER EXTRA ALL THE TIME JUST TO EXPRESS EMOTION AT THE BOTTOM OF THE MARIANA TRENCH SURROUNDED ONLY BY GIANT SQUID IN PITCH DARKNESS IF YOU WANT TO CONNECT INTIMATELY WITH ANY LIVING FORM, EVERYONE KNOWS THIS

anyway i’m thinking merman viktor is like the size of a blue whale and ate ships for sustenance in the 14th century or something. this is straight up fair folk blue and orange morality we’re talking here. his human form is devastatingly attractive, since mermaids are always devastating something. he is incapable of human speech at first, having lived in lonely darkness at the bottom of the ocean for hundreds and hundreds of years WITHOUT A DOG, YOU THOUGHT I COULDN’T MAKE THIS ANY SADDER THAN VIKTOR’S PRE-YUURI LIFE IN CANON BUT I CAN. but of course viktor learns fast. yuuri, the fisherman living a quiet life on the coast, wonders why the thunderstorms at sea and sudden deadly whirlpools always spare his little island for no scientific reason. the movements of the waves and winds make people on tv tear their hair out in confusion. ‘come live with me at the bottom of the ocean, yuuri,’ says viktor in slightly garbled japanese, shrunken down to roughly the size of a dolphin, pulling at yuuri’s beautiful ankles as yuuri sits dangling his feet in the water off the pier, careless of the danger. generations of villagers have warned their children not to wade out too far into the ocean to play. there are nightmare legends of fishing boats lost at sea. yuuri ignores centuries of well-documented folklore because fuck you, that’s why.

viktor has silver hair and is pale as fuck due to the fact that he hasn’t seen much sunlight since the tang dynasty. see i told you mermaids give everything a perfectly reasonable explanation. yuuri makes him want to live again.

‘come, come, come,’ sings the breeze on the beach, ruffling yuuri’s hair affectionately. somewhere on the horizon, there is a loud crack of lightning signalling a storm in the middle of the winter months. if the people who lived in this area 2000 years ago were still around, they could tell you that this is known as a mermaid mating display. weather forecasters are baffled. ‘come, come.’

‘no,’ says yuuri.

‘okay,’ says viktor, and turns himself into a human.

next up on romcom week: lovecraftian horror falls in love

* * *

**Anonymous asked: For the mermaid ficlet you wrote I couldn't help but imagine Yuuri skating in the winters and Viktor secretly watching him from below the ice**

i imagined this being a tropical fishing village stormy seas and beaches sort of location but this is great too anon. maybe viktor is a lake mermaid. maybe viktor is a harmless little water spirit inhabiting the frozen pond where yuuri goes to skate with his shitty skates but where would be the fun in that. i like my eldritch abominations. maybe viktor is the loch ness monster. yuuri’s sister mari takes people on guided tours and waves a bored hand at the surface of the lake, which ripples ominously. she does not tell them that That One Photo of nessie was proven to be a hoax in like the 1990s. she warns them not to fall over the side of the boat.

[loch ness is fucking huge you guys](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FLoch_Ness%23%2Fmedia%2FFile%3ALochNessUrquhart.jpg&t=MGQyODgxYmI2ZTlkOGNkODViNzI0YjZkZDljODNjOGRiYTdkNjFjMyxrd293eW1scg%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F157528180640%2Ffor-the-mermaid-ficlet-you-wrote-i-couldnt-help&m=1)

yuuri is very cunning. yuuri gets drunk in scottish pubs and tells everyone he fucked the loch ness monster. this is all part of yuuri’s plan. but tell us, yuuri, says everyone. how did you fuck nessie, says everyone, eyes glinting over the rims of their mugs. yuuri orders another beer. was she good in the sack, says everyone. yuuri is on his 16th beer. how the fuck is he still standing. this is the stamina that allows him to fuck nessie.

one, don’t talk about the loch ness monster that way, says yuuri. two, i’m pretty sure the loch ness monster identifies as a boy? idk. don’t impose society’s gender norms on primordial creatures, guys. he winks. think long-term, viktor, i know what i’m doing. this is a long con. yuuri is the clark kent of figure skating and also fucking loch ness monsters

it becomes a running joke. i hear katsuki yuuri fucked the loch ness monster. i hear yuuri has an eight-pack. they said he was shredded. no one will ever believe you, hisses yuuri, stumbling home at midnight with suspiciously damp clothes. ah yes, everybody roars, holding their bellies to contain their laughter. yeah yeah we all know. yuuri fucked the loch ness monster. get out of here

(we’re getting married, yells viktor from the bottom of loch ness)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VIKTOR IS THE SELKIE WHO DOESN'T WANT TO LEAVE  
> HERE'S MY SEALSKIN YUURI CUT IT UP TO MAKE BOOTS OR SOMETHING I DON'T CARE


	7. five times ficlets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not posting all of the prompts, just the good ones (i think). i'm putting them together to reduce the number of chapters

#[HOW WONDERFUL](https://kixboxer.tumblr.com/tagged/HOW-WONDERFUL) #[yuuri the heartbreaker yep canon](https://kixboxer.tumblr.com/tagged/yuuri-the-heartbreaker-yep-canon) #[and now i want a 5 bathrooms yuuri has cried in fic](https://kixboxer.tumblr.com/tagged/and-now-i-want-a-5-bathrooms-yuuri-has-cried-in-fic) #[i have no idea what the +1 would be](https://kixboxer.tumblr.com/tagged/i-have-no-idea-what-the-%2B1-would-be) #[one place yuuri cried that was not a bathroom?](https://kixboxer.tumblr.com/tagged/one-place-yuuri-cried-that-was-not-a-bathroom%3F) #[one bathroom yuuri did not cry in I WOULD NOT EXPECT HIM TO CRY IN EVERY SINGLE BATHROOM OF HIS LIFE](https://kixboxer.tumblr.com/tagged/one-bathroom-yuuri-did-not-cry-in-I-WOULD-NOT-EXPECT-HIM-TO-CRY-IN-EVERY-SINGLE-BATHROOM-OF-HIS-LIFE) #[one time someone else cried in a bathroom is probably the best bet](https://kixboxer.tumblr.com/tagged/one-time-someone-else-cried-in-a-bathroom-is-probably-the-best-bet) #[one time someone else cried in a bathroom and katsuki yuuri - bathroom crying champion - found them](https://kixboxer.tumblr.com/tagged/one-time-someone-else-cried-in-a-bathroom-and-katsuki-yuuri---bathroom-crying-champion---found-them) #[and was torn between THIS IS TOO AWKWARD FOR ME I MUST LEAVE IMMEDIATELY](https://kixboxer.tumblr.com/tagged/and-was-torn-between-THIS-IS-TOO-AWKWARD-FOR-ME-I-MUST-LEAVE-IMMEDIATELY) #[and FINALLY I WAS BORN FOR THIS THIS IS SOMETHING I AM A LIVING LEGEND IN LET ME BE YOUR COACH](https://kixboxer.tumblr.com/tagged/and-FINALLY-I-WAS-BORN-FOR-THIS-THIS-IS-SOMETHING-I-AM-A-LIVING-LEGEND-IN-LET-ME-BE-YOUR-COACH) ([kixboxer](https://tmblr.co/mtPsh9UiDpFkwgGsyAfXmBA))

  1. the time yuuri cried in a bathroom on his first day of college because detroit is scary and america is scary and college is scary and there were too many people and americans speak english very fast much faster than he learned to speak in his lessons and then he cried some more out of shame because he felt like a homesick crybaby and WOW yuuri get a grip, this is why nobody likes you and you will never be loved (says yuuri’s anxiety, loudly and without basis in reality)
  2. the time yuuri cried in the shower thinking about viktor nikiforov and how beautiful he is and how badly yuuri wants to ~~be~~ ~~meet~~ ~~marry~~ _compete against_ him some day
  3. the time yuuri quietly excused himself from watching the world championship after placing sixth at the gpf to sit on the toilet seat and put his head on his knees for a while before shedding a few very controlled and silent tears
  4. the time yuuri cried during his shower after his short program at the gpf thinking about how he was going to break up with viktor, it’s for his own GOOD, break up with viktor before he inevitably breaks up with you and you relive the memory of the love of your life leaving you for the rest of your waking hours (says yuuri’s anxiety), while viktor lay on the bed outside waiting for his turn in the bathroom, blissfully ignorant of all this, mentally replaying every second of yuuri’s sp to come up with a list of constructive criticism for their next practice time and also dreamily planning their wedding
  5. the time yuuri cried of happiness in their bathroom brushing his teeth after waking up next to viktor in their apartment in st. petersburg on the first of what will be many many mornings that will never end



bonus:

  1. the time yuuri found yurio crying in the bathroom and sat down gently next to him (on top of the dustbin, which is gross and full of used toilet paper and other things yurio doesn’t want to think about) in the tiny cramped cubicle which was barely big enough for the two of them, and put his arm around yurio and listened to him in soft & reassuring silence for almost a full half-hour, and gave some (somewhat awkward and blunt, which is exactly what yurio likes) well-meaning advice and took yurio out to wash his face and braid yurio’s hair because why not and then told yurio ‘at least i didn’t kick down the door like you did to me’ and then yurio laugh-cried and they hugged and said they loved each other and viktor was waiting outside the bathroom with a drink of cold water and yurio’s cat



* * *

**Anonymous asked: top five times yuri plisetsky aggressively defended yuuri katsuki to the press**

  1. NO HE’S NOT AN ASSHOLE, WHAT THE FUCK, HE’S SHY AND SUFFERS FROM ANXIETY, YOU WANT TO SEE WHAT SOMEONE WHO’S AN ASSHOLE TO THEIR FANS REALLY LOOKS LIKE? HERE I’LL SHOW YOU
  2. yurio in private: ‘that exhibition skate was fucking unnecessary.’ yurio in public: ‘that exhibition skate was fucking art and you can all go to hell if you don’t think viktor nikiforov deserves to do something fun with yuuri after selling his soul to you guys for the past 20 years’
  3. what wedding rumours? what wedding? haven’t heard of it. you’re all not invited so if i see a single one of you paparazzi sniffing around the hotel where the wedding, which certainly isn’t happening, will be held (except it won’t be held at any hotel, because there is no wedding), i will personally come out there and escort you off the premises
  4. i want to reverse that ‘after spending so many years as a skater i’ve developed a thick skin’ meme tbh. ‘katsuki really likes blue costumes, huh? pity navy blue isn’t his colour’ → yurio, clutching his dog-eared yuuri posters to his chest: navy blue brINGS OUT HIS EYES YOU PRICK
  5. no other japanese skater will ever compare to yuuri and after yuuri retires yurio eyes any rising stars from japan with great suspicion & resentment and makes it his personal mission to thrash them in every competition so nobody ever has the DISRESPECT to describe them as ‘the next katsuki yuuri’



* * *

**Anonymous asked: top five times Victor surprised Yuuri (or the other way around)**

  1. the time viktor yelled at yuuri in st. petersburg for not realising his need to put himself down hurts the people around him, do you think i don’t love you yuuri, you might as well tell me to take off my ring and then yuuri cried and viktor cried and they made up
  2. the time 15-year-old viktor nikiforov blew a kiss on the ice to the older skater who called viktor’s long hair inappropriate before proceeding to smash that skater’s short program record like it was nothing (this incident also features heavily in yurio’s fondest memories)
  3. the time 19-year-old viktor got so pissed off after flubbing an easy (by viktor’s standards, obviously) jump that he improvised the rest of his free skate and won gold
  4. the time viktor came into yuuri’s room after a bad anxiety day before yuuri could hide the one traitorous photo frame still sitting on his desk and sat beside yuuri on the bed and comforted him, and went through yuuri’s poster collection and told yuuri anecdotes about every single one and autographed them all, and then pulled out his phone to show him all the katsuki yuuri wallpapers he swaps out every day
  5. the time viktor woke up next to yuuri at age 28 & 30 & 40 & 50 & 60 & 70 and still loved him



* * *

**[zehvintagetimetable](https://zehvintagetimetable.tumblr.com/) asked: Top five times Viktor told Yuuri that he loved him**

  1. the time viktor skated stammi vicino just for yuuri in the rink as part of their prep for the exhibition skate
  2. the time he skated yuri on ice alongside yuuri during practice
  3. the time yuuri asked viktor to sleep in his room in hasetsu after a Bad Anxiety Day and viktor came in and curled around yuuri in the tiny single bed and kissed his hair and told yuuri he loved him in all the languages he knew
  4. from the same occasion, the time viktor and makkachin barked at each other for a solid three minutes in an argument over who got to sleep with yuuri in his too-small bed (viktor won, but only because yuuri intervened)
  5. the time he said ‘i do’



* * *

**Anonymous asked: top 5 times viktor and yuuri danced**

  1. the time chris impromptu skated to poker face at the gala during the part where everyone was just jamming on the ice and beckoned to the others, laughing, and viktor followed yuuri across the ice and copied his choreography and they did a quad flip together and yakov got dust in his eyes seeing vitya so happy
  2. the time viktor put on music after a long day in hasetsu when yuuri’s brain wasn’t treating him right and asked yuuri to show him how to ballroom dance, as if this fake-ass bitch didn’t already know how to ballroom dance, and yuuri smiled shyly after a while and didn’t stop smiling and then they put on a tango and were very Dramatic and fell over each other laughing. the triplets wanted to film it, but hiroko stopped them. ‘shh,’ she said, placid. ‘let them have this’
  3. the time yuuri and viktor grabbed yurio and spun around wildly in circles after winning gold, silver and bronze respectively at the olympics
  4. the time yuuri dipped viktor in practice for their exhibition skate and viktor lost count of the music as he was too distracted by gazing up into yuuri’s beautiful, gorgeous, soft, perfect brown eyes and every single nose hair in yuuri’s nostrils was fearfully & wonderfully made and ‘okay, viktor,’ said yuuri in exasperation, throwing up his hands (after setting viktor gently back on his feet, of course). ‘you’ll do the dipping.’
  5. the time they slow danced at their wedding while phichit danced with chris, mila danced with sara, yakov danced with lilia (TELL NO ONE!!!), otabek stood in the corner comforting yurio through his tears of emotion, and seven consecutive people volunteered to dance with georgi so he wouldn’t feel left out



* * *

**Anonymous asked: Top 5 questions Viktor doesn’t ask Yuuri these first few months in Hasetsu?...**

  1. what can i do to make you love me
  2. can i show you i love you through physical touch or do i have to use my words. please this is very difficult for me i have few close relationships and talk to my dog
  3. where should i kiss you first? on the shoulder, neck, elbows? top of the head? i would really like you kissing me on the top of my head even if you have to climb on the stool in yu-topia’s kitchen okaasan uses to reach the higher cupboards in order to do it. your mouth is very soft, and i am also soft. please i will be gentle
  4. oh. why _do_ you love me
  5. and will you stay with me forever



bonus:

  1. [lana del rey voice] will you still love me when i’m no longer young & beautiful



* * *

**Anonymous asked: top 5 times yuuri called him vitya (or any other russian endearment)?**

  1. the time viktor got caught in the rain without an umbrella and had to hurry home to yuuri, arriving wet and gorgeous and undone, and yuuri took one look at viktor and told him to get in the shower (and then had to sit on the kitchen counter outside for a while, feeling Compromised)
  2. the time somebody asked yuuri how he felt about competing against his husband and yuuri smirked and said on camera ‘my vitya will give me a good fight’
  3. the time yuuri called him kitten in russian without knowing what it meant and viktor’s stomach did a full flip over his heart and settled somewhere between his ribcage and his groin
  4. the time yuuri kissed him sleepily and called him viten’ka and told him he loved him and then rolled over and went back to sleep with no memory of this in the morning
  5. the time yuuri said ‘vitya!!!’ in the exact tone viktor uses to say yuuri’s name and jumped into his arms in front of everyone in the airport



* * *

**Anonymous asked: Yo~ Top five times Yuuri Katsuki was an absolute savage in the media?**

  1. the epic self-drag during which he described himself as a dime-a-dozen figure skater on live television and millions of audience members collectively rolled their eyes before realising _it’s not humblebragging, **he really thinks that**_  

  2. the time his college newspaper interviewed him as part of a feature on athletes and yuuri had to shyly explain that he missed all his 8am lectures this month bc he was busy winning japanese nationals (related: yuuri as a college jock never fails to amuse me)
  3. the time he appeared on some japanese reality/game show idk and said in utter contempt, ‘you call that a flying sit spin?’ and then immediately clapped his hands over his mouth in horror but too late it’s been replayed like 500 times on the show with extra graphics and spawned multiple gifs and become a meme
  4. the time an interviewer thought it would be a good idea to make yuuri read tweets about himself and yuuri agreed with every single critical one but also accidentally roasted anonymous twitter users for their fuckboy avatars in his gentle way. [yuuri voice] ‘yeah…..i should retire…….this is a good anime, btw. i enjoyed it when i was 5’ ‘10.8k tweets and still an egg? i don’t have twitter. i thought you would evolve’
  5. ‘viktor is better at winning trophies than being a trophy husband’ (this was intended to be a compliment. yuuri’s not so good with words)  




bonus: the time he wasn’t savage

  1. when a reporter asked about the 2016 gpf bronze medal controversy and yuuri was very diplomatic and said he empathised with jj’s performance anxiety and this made a lot of people everywhere happy about yuuri publicly owning his mental health issues and skaters supporting each other (jj leroy still doesn’t know who this guy is but hey thanks dude)



* * *

**Anonymous asked: top 5 pieces of katsuki yuuri merch minami kenjirou bought with his mother's credit card**

  1. the phone case based on yuuri’s lohengrin program, which (surprise surprise) viktor has also bought
  2. a replica of the black-and-gold pendant yuuri wore inside his costume the first time he won japanese nationals. a good luck charm, says yuuri shyly, fingering the necklace, when he’s asked about it in interviews. to minami it is just a reminder that he can win japanese nationals (like yuuri), and be beautiful (like yuuri), and someday get his idol to notice him (like yuuri)
  3. the setting spray for smudge-proof stage makeup with yuuri’s face on the bottle. (maybe he’s born with it. maybe it’s maybelline) he was told to gaze dreamily into the camera and he cringed and squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them and thought about viktor nikiforov for 2 seconds and it was perfect. yuuri, when pressed, suggested ‘cry all you want!’ as the tagline and he was gently dissuaded by his sponsors
  4. the purple shampoo minami uses to maintain the dyed streak in his hair was released in collaboration with katsuki yuuri and whenever minami walks past the hair products aisle in the supermarket and catches a whiff of that familiar scent he smiles to himself. yuuri, who has never dyed his hair in his life (or eaten at any outlets of the soft-serve ice cream chain, or drunk 0% sugar apple juice, or used any of the other totally ubiquitous products featuring yuuri’s extremely photogenic image), continues to be confused
  5. most of yuuri’s posters are not posed (unlike viktor’s) but professionally photographed shots of his skates and when yuuri sees them he winces remembering the falls and popped jumps and other humiliations associated with those particular programs. yurio, who always rips his yuuri posters off the walls and ceiling before yuuri enters his bedroom with a speed that would make yuuri proud, would kill anyone who questions the beauty of those programs



* * *

**[dadvans](http://dadvans.tumblr.com/) asked: top five things that happened in detroit that STAY in detroit, phichit, victor caNNOT FIND OUT**

  1. the facebook video of yuuri dirty dancing to pcd with at least 6 other guys who were all trying very hard to go home with yuuri, which is a large part of the reason yuuri does not have a facebook account
  2. the month yuuri spent high out of his mind and also living on red bull & black coffee, during which a lot of College Mistakes were made. they have agreed to never speak of it again
  3. the one and only time phichit cried in college, and yuuri sat at the foot of phichit’s bed frantically googling ‘15 comforting things to tell someone’ and ‘what to do when your best friend is sad’, as yuuri can barely navigate his own emotional hellscape let alone other people’s
  4. the time yuuri blew a guy in the hallway at a house party and then left the party three hours early without telling anyone or answering his phone and walked back to the dorms alone in the dark to silently freak out under the covers in his bedroom till phichit dragged him out and threw him in the shower
  5. one of many late-night conversations in 24/7 burger joints on Anxiety Nights, during which yuuri confided that he wasn’t sure he was capable of forming meaningful connections with other people due to a) the ice b) a lifelong infatuation with viktor nikiforov. phichit replied (after first yelling at him bc ARE YOU SAYING WE DON’T HAVE A MEANINGFUL CONNECTION, YUURI) that the obvious solution was to form one with viktor nikiforov. one year later phichit facetimes yuuri at 3am to shout I DIDN’T EXPECT YOU TO ACTUALLY DO IT



* * *

**Anonymous asked: top 5 phichit selfies + how long he took to prepare them I AM USING INTERNET EXPLORER FOR THIS**

  1. the bathroom selfie from some point during the first few weeks of college, before phichit found his groove and found yuuri and became the shining star of the social scene he was always meant to be. phichit locked himself in the dorm bathroom for half an hour (fuck you, you can shower on the next floor) and tried out different poses in front of the mirror, and reapplied his beautiful winged liner. at the end of that, feeling much better, he gave his reflection finger guns and told himself he was amazing & handsome & charming and soon would be surrounded by friends. he was right.
  2. the selfie with guang hong, which they’re both very proud of as it shows off their newfound talent for smouldering at the camera through a filter that makes them look like ingrid bergman in casablanca. they practised very hard so they’d like you to appreciate this, thanks
  3. the selfie at the college party where yuuri got wasted and defeated the entire wayne state university football team in a dance battle (and also got many phone numbers). obviously this was a spur-of-the-moment photo for posterity in the 2 seconds before phichit got out there to join yuuri, he can’t just leave his best friend alone on the dancefloor
  4. the selfie with viktor nikiforov which nearly crashes instagram through the sheer force of their combined star power and death-defying good looks in one photo
  5. the selfie from the top of the podium at the gpf four years down the road, after viktor & yuuri have retired (where’s yurio? idk just let phichit have his gold)



* * *

**Anonymous asked: top 5 times with the katsuki siblings!**

  1. the time mari got her first piercing and yuuri spent a long time picking through the earrings she bought and watching her clean the wound in fascination & awe at how cool his sister is
  2. the time yuuri went away to college for 5 years and he and mari nodded brusquely at each other in the airport and then yuuri aggressively did a lot of chores in detroit to remind himself of the inn
  3. the time tiny yuuri got mad at mari for not appreciating the videos of viktor skating he made her watch with him as much as he wanted. however, mari remembered enough to scrutinise viktor nikiforov head to toe when he arrived in hasetsu to determine his suitability for her brother, over 10 years later
  4. the time mari flew to sochi for the gpf with minako, watched yuuri self-destruct, and left him alone to retreat behind his defensive barriers for the next year out of respect for his privacy
  5. the time mari flew to barcelona for the gpf with minako, watched yuuri get engaged, break his fiancé’s record and narrowly miss the gold medal by less than a point, befriended her brother-in-law and four other skaters, and bought a lot of spanish souvenirs for her friends and family



* * *

**Anonymous asked: top 5 times the katsuki fam thought victor would be a great in-law**

  1. the time mari drank him under the table and toshiya put him to bed and nobody understood what viktor was rambling about but they could make out yuuri’s name and a lot of exclamation marks
  2. the time viktor was delighted by their functional, 10-year-old, ordinary dishwasher that didn’t have like seventeen different settings or cost more than their car and figured out how to use it in under 2 minutes while making increasingly excited noises and now he washes up after every meal while mari snipes at yuuri for ~11 years of his reluctance to do chores
  3. the time mari set him to do spring cleaning as revenge for making her move his boxes of stuff when he first arrived and viktor spent so long lovingly polishing every single one of yuuri’s trophies that he was late for practice
  4. the time he taught hiroko how to ballroom dance in the inn’s restaurant after closing time and she asked him to call her okaasan
  5. the time minako told viktor jokingly that his in-laws liked him and viktor pointed to makkachin licking yuuri’s face and said, perfectly serious, ‘good thing my in-laws like yuuri too!’



* * *

**[exiled-one](https://exiled-one.tumblr.com/) asked: 5 times Yuuri calmed Viktor down?**

this is a really old ask for an even older ask meme that i never got around to answering before, I’M SORRY

i’m having a few high-functioningbpd!viktor feelings tonight so this is what you get, i hope it’s ok

  1. the banquet where viktor ran into & had to talk to the sponsor whose career viktor swore he’d ruin >10 years ago (viktor never got around to it), and viktor smiled fixedly and something went blank behind the eyes so yuuri, who had no idea about any of this but could feel viktor being Off from all the way across the room, came and put his arm around his fiancé and leaned on viktor all through the conversation till viktor felt like a part of reality again
  2. the competition where viktor messed up one of his most consistent jumps and proceeded to rage-improvise the rest of his program. everybody watching was overwhelmed & in awe & delighted by the return of the Fire in viktor nikiforov, but yuuri smiled at viktor as his scores appeared on the screen and the world slowed down, righted itself, felt a little steadier
  3. viktor nikiforov is very charming. very collected, put-together, self-confident. a joy to interview, a gift to fans. exemplary in fan encounters. it feels like a turbine churning the same water over and over again. viktor comes home and (shamelessly, unhesitatingly, without thinking about his actions) crawls into yuuri’s lap and puts his face against yuuri’s soft tummy and closes his eyes and his mind goes blank, but in a completely different way. a better way
  4. the time _yuuri_ climbed into viktor’s lap and smiled down at viktor like he knew everything that was going on in viktor’s head and loved him anyway and cuddled viktor’s head to his chest and kissed the top of his head and sighed, contentedly, like this was all he could ever want
  5. the time viktor snapped ‘don’t act like you care, yakov!’ and skated off to the other side of the rink before yakov had time to react, and yuuri slid up to viktor and said, quietly, ‘skate figures with me?’ and viktor did




	8. apartment lesbians

in an au where viktor and yuuri are two soft working-age girls living together in their small apartment in the city, viktor is exactly the kind of girlfriend who goes ‘babe can i borrow your lipstick?’ in the mornings before work. yuuri says ‘sure’ and fumbles in her bag only to be interrupted by viktor taking yuuri’s face in her hands and giving her a long kiss on the mouth. ‘thank you,’ says viktor cheerfully, and she saunters away as yuuri stares after her gf thinking 'why is she like this’

viktor is tall and lean and yuuri is chubby and soft and wonders every day how she managed to snag a gf as gorgeous as viktor. YOU ARE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL IN THE WHOLE WORLD, viktor yells, her eyes filling with tears of love and indignation. ok i’m p sure it’s you tho? says yuuri. NO!! says viktor. IT’S YOU!! I HAVE PROOF LOOK IN THE MIRROR!!!!

they doze off on each other’s shoulders on the subway home from work. they go out to dinner and the food is awful but viktor is too busy staring into her gf’s eyes to notice. 'i’m the only one who gets to see you like this,’ she sighs, reaching out to wipe sauce away from the corner of yuuri’s mouth with her thumb. 'okay,’ says yuuri, who is quite sure the rest of the world also sees her like this daily

viktor is a trans girl and had hair down to her waist when she was presenting as a _boy_ , wearing beautiful three-piece suits and high heels and generally fucking gender expectations left and right. now she has cut her hair short and is the girl on trains and bars and on the street who makes other wlw girls gasp softly and whisper to themselves 'shit i’m gay’. you know exactly what i’m talking about

they cuddle on the couch in the living room on friday nights after a long week. yuuri massages viktor’s feet and viktor braids yuuri’s hair. coming home from work yuuri changes into sweatpants and takes makkachin out for a walk, also viktor cries over netflix

viktor used to do the most meticulous nail art but now she keeps her fingernails short and clean. 'you know why,’ says viktor whenever she is asked, winking suggestively in yuuri’s direction. yuuri breathes out a long sigh through her nose. they’re in love

* * *

i want to write viktor (viktoria?) who’s soft and warm and lonely and struck dumb by the sheer loveliness of her gf and snuggles up to her in bed, open mouth sweet on her collarbone, slipping a hand up yuri’s shirt not to, you know, DO anything, just to feel her there. vika who probably tears up listening to [this girl cover of take me to church](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fopen.spotify.com%2Ftrack%2F7dtsvHmI38wndQbrgdAptY&t=NTc5ZTYzZWM5YjQ5OWE1MTkyNTBlNGNjYWVkZDRjNWFhZDlhMWQ1MSxENmZ1Y3JvZw%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F157485374695%2Falways-a-different-sexgender&m=1). vika who kisses yuri’s calloused fingers, every one, taking them lightly into her mouth like she wants to keep them forever. yuri’s flush spreads down her throat deep into her chest and the way she bites her lip is so sweet. i’ll love you forever, she confesses, nuzzling into the champagne curve of viktoria’s neck and viktoria says okay, okay, like she can’t really believe it

* * *

**[wylaan](http://wylaan.tumblr.com/) asked: Childhood friends as a trope?**

i hope you don’t mind that i’m turning this into more of [the au where they’re girls](http://kevystel.tumblr.com/post/157526134420). it’s been a long day and when tired, lesbians

anyway we’ve established that vika is a trans girl and the most gorgeous girl in the world causing many Big Gay Epiphanies among strangers she passes in the street yes. in my mind’s eye they both have short hair but feel free to imagine whatever. they are not neighbours but i like to think they maybe went to the same kindergarten or their mothers were in the same baking society or maybe yuri brought back vika’s dog when makkachin went missing for 3 days. they watched bad tv together on sleepy summer afternoons after school and fell asleep on each other’s shoulders and braided each other’s long hair. old ladies in the grocery store winked at them and told yuri ‘if he pulls your hair, it means he likes you’ and yuri was like, vitya has never pulled my hair or been mean to me in our lives, what the fuck.

anyway yuri is actually like the last person viktoria comes out to because yuri knows her as a boy with waist-length hair and painted nails and what is gender what the fuck??? also now viktoria has short hair what the fuck???? what?? what???? how & what and also who invented the concept of gender and WHY. yuri, who has been in love with vika since the age of 12 (they’re the same age in this), is kinda secretly hurt by vika not telling her for a long time and comes to the conclusion that to avoid engaging with all these confusing Feelings let’s end this.

what the fuck.

vika is like: no.

they have a long talk and there are makeouts.

yuri, says viktoria, standing in the doorway of yuri’s bedroom with makkachin tucked under one arm. she touches a finger to her lips nervously. let’s sleep together

we have slept in the same bed since we were 9, says yuri.

okay, vika says meekly, and she crawls into yuri’s bed underneath the ceiling where they painted glow-in-the-dark stars when they were in their early teens, and kisses her until they fall asleep


	9. sex pollen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kixboxer asked: Sex pollen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’ve never read a sex pollen fic in my life. here are my impressions of what it is like

‘M-Mari told me this was how babies were made,’ Yuuri mutters, his eyes clenched shut. He pulls one knee up to his chest, rocking back and forth a little. A bead of perspiration slips down from temple to jaw to the delicious line of his neck, and Viktor itches to smooth it away with fingertips, with tongue. ‘When I was a kid. You know, like flowers?’

‘Huh,’ says Viktor. He thinks about it for a second. ‘You know, when you said my eros could get you pregnant, I didn’t envision it going quite like this?’

Yuuri winces. He inhales deeply, and then a sound veering dangerously close to a whine escapes his throat. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip. ‘Can you not… stand downwind?’

‘Oh, sorry,’ Viktor says, and moves out of range. He shifts his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. ‘Speaking of making babies, we should adopt some new puppies soon. I think every time we go into the bedroom we’re getting Makkachin’s hopes up.’

Yuuri rolls to the other side of the bed and pulls the covers over his head.


	10. VAMPIRE AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> xyai asked: enemies to friends to lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said ‘i’m not gonna write a lesbian vampire au’ and i’m not gonna write a lesbian vampire au. this is just a concept, ok, possibly inspired by that one photoshoot with kristen stewart and charlize theron, don’t take me seriously, please i’m fucking weak ok

viktor (viktoria?) is tall and beautiful and every other vampire who meets her thinks she must be ancient bc CHARISMA but joke’s on you she was just turned, like, last week. you’re so cold, whispers a starstruck sara crispino at the annual gala of the undead (think _what we do in the shadows_ except everyone is attractive), stroking viktoria’s beautiful elbow reverently. how are you so cold? i’m russian, says viktoria. 

yuri (sayuri??), the Actual ancient & territorial vampire who just wants to be left alone to enjoy some goddamned peace and quiet, is somewhat ticked off by the creation of viktoria nikiforova, heartbreaker extraordinaire NOW WITH BONUS VAMPIRE POWERS, happening in HER territory. first of all who let mila hunt over here. second of all now yuri has to compete with a potentially (read: almost certainly) ravenous newborn vampire roaming around in yuri’s traditional family hunting grounds, potentially stealing her kills, SHOWING UP ON HER DOORSTEP NAKED, NOT RESPECTING BOUNDARIES as mila forgot to teach vika the rules and just ran off how irresponsible. and yuri is very competitive. 

GET OFF MY LAWN, yells yuri, who has been tired since 1446, and is also tired of lesbian jokes being made about her name. let her rest

i’m lost and alone in this undead life, i need a Mentor, please yuri. be my coach, yuri, says viktoria, casually taking off her shirt. 

alternatively, watch me write a vampire au that doesn’t involve multiple implied murders. viktoria’s a newly turned vampire with no memory of her past life or how she got here or ANY IDEA how this undead stuff works. yuri’s the last in a proud line of vampire hunters who have kept this area killing-free for a hundred years and she considers it her duty & her joy to hunt down and snuff out this new threat before it strikes for the first time. they fight crime.

anyway they hate each other for a while (aka viktoria runs from yuri and her sharpened stake for a while. there is a roadtrip across the rural united states at some point) before discovering that vika will risk severe burns to come close to YURI, THE LOVE OF HER AFTERLIFE, despite all the silver jewellery. after a series of shenanigans and possibly a musical number, and teaming up to take down the Big Bad vampire of this action movie (who shall remain unnamed as i don’t want to kill any of the yoi cast), they fall in love. for the rest of their domestic lives yuri is passive-aggressive at her gf during an argument by eating entire baskets of garlic bread and putting in a silver tongue piercing, which she shows off while licking her ice cream cone suggestively

they do some research in old libraries and experiments (on viktoria, who has no sense of self-preservation) and calculate that vika can feed just about once a month minimum and still remain healthy & functional.

guess what also happens once a month.

it’s all very film noir.

good night

* * *

**Anonymous asked: More super lesbian viktoria and her adorable girlfriend yuuri?**

‘Yuri,’ Viktoria whines. ‘I’m dying, I need you, please, Yuri.’

Yuri tosses another heap of laundry into the washing machine without turning to look at Viktoria. ‘You’re already dead.’

Viktoria whimpers.

Yuri starts up the washing machine and marches past Viktoria into the kitchen. Viktoria follows at a pained distance, lingering around the edges of Yuri’s vision like a slightly wild-eyed, smudgy ghost. Then Yuri puts on her glasses and the sodden blur resolves into Viktoria, 180cm of pathetic in a cream-coloured man’s nightshirt that hides absolutely nothing, shielding herself from the sunlight that filters through the curtains with a pair of $500 Gucci shades.

Viktoria’s hovering is beginning to get on Yuri’s _nerves_. She shakes the bracelet on her left wrist as she turns on the stove to start preparing dinner. The silver charms jingle menacingly. Viktoria keeps venturing into Yuri’s space, as close as she can possibly come before being repelled, letting out hurt, wanting little noises. Viktoria clearly has a death wish. Yuri sprinkles a little cooking oil into the frying pan.

‘Since you’re here, you can make yourself useful and start scrubbing out the oven.’

‘Okay,’ says Viktoria, defeated. Against her own wishes, Yuri feels a sharp twinge in her chest. She turns around. Viktoria’s draped across the kitchen counter behind her, watching Yuri with a kind of unfocussed, desperate hunger. The fragile nightshirt Viktoria is wearing slides off one perfect shoulder, and then the other. The top of the nightshirt slips down. Yuri starts aggressively tossing vegetables. 

‘Yuri,’ Viktoria says, biting her plush, cherry-red bottom lip. Yuri catches the glint of fangs under the fluorescent light. ‘Sweetheart. Can we make dinner together?’

‘There’s a bag of B positive from the ER in the freezer. You can microwave it yourself.’

‘ _Yuri_.’ Viktoria whips off her shades and Yuri lunges to the window to yank the curtains shut, it’s five p.m., Viktoria, what the _fuck_. Before she knows it, Viktoria has crossed the tiny kitchen in a single swift inhuman step and is pressing her hot mouth to the back of Yuri’s hand, tonguing the dips and peaks of calloused knuckles. Her eyelashes flutter, drunken. Her fingertips are beginning to scorch where they come too close to the silver bracelet sitting on Yuri’s skin. ‘Yuri, please.’

‘Vika!’ Yuri jerks her hand away. ‘You’re hurting yourself!’

‘I love you,’ Viktoria says, wet-eyed.

‘Well, maybe you should have taken out the fucking trash like you were supposed to,’ replies Yuri, sticking a sprig of garlic between her teeth.

_bonus:_ _one year earlier_

‘Don’t come near me,’ Yuri warns, hurrying to put the edge of the crate between them. Mentally she maps out possible hiding places in the darkness of this abandoned warehouse. God, she wishes she hadn’t used her last stake for firewood. ‘I have a silver tongue piercing!’

‘You… have… a tongue piercing,’ Viktoria repeats like a woman in a trance, her eyes glazing crimson with lust.


	11. bed sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everymanwillbeaking asked: for the fanfic trope ask: "oh no there's only one bed"

‘Yuuri,’ Viktor whispers. Yuuri’s lying on his side with his back to Viktor, refreshing Instagram over and over again in the darkness of their shared hotel room. He’s got Invert Colours on, so all the faces and figures and medal-wearing podium silhouettes look like B-movie infrared apparitions. His eyes sting. ‘Yuuri?’

Viktor’s arm has found its way over Yuuri’s waist in their sleep. He flattens his palm against Yuuri’s too-soft, too-round, not-perfect abdomen like it’s a grounding point, the wingspan of his fingers broad and safe and strong. Under the blankets, the warm inner curve of his elbow is surprisingly soft. Then he _pulls_.

Yuuri inhales. He rolls over, tucking himself into the coil of the embrace, tucking his face on Viktor’s shoulder where the cool slip of cotton shirt soothes his swollen eyes. Beyond the windowpane a heavy moon soaks the floor beside their bed in damp light. His phone abandoned, the world narrows to the twin heat of their bodies curled together in the nest of pillows and covers, taking up space, more than Yuuri deserves, taking up oxygen, like: _I’m here. I’m here._

‘I’m here,’ Viktor says, still mostly asleep. ‘I’m here, I’m here,’ and his lips brush the top of Yuuri’s head. Yuuri sighs.

He sleeps.


	12. viktor in hasetsu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pearlo asked: Ficlet prompt: Victor falling in love with/fitting himself into Hasetsu and all the folks there?
> 
> Anonymous asked: Headcanon: Victor loves being Yuri's Trophy Husband partly b/c it means he can escape being Skating Superstar Victor Nikiforov all the time. No one expects anything of him in Hasetsu because he's the Katsuki Boy's Goofy Husband (Yuri's fame outshines his b/c he's the local hero). Victor loves his fans, but for the first time in more than a decade he gets to be a normal, mostly anonymous person, and it's WOW! AMAZING!

so i feel like yuuri’s pretty private about his lifelong celebrity crush on viktor, not SECRETIVE (as if he could keep it a secret lbr) but he gets red in the face when people give him viktor merch for birthdays and christmas every year. he definitely stammered and cringed when his high school classmates saw he had a pic of vicchan as his phone background and went ‘oh that’s funny, we thought your wallpaper would be viktor nikiforov!’ he definitely received posters of viktor as gifts in the mail from his fans and experienced a mixture of feelings, most prominently embarrassment and gratitude and ‘well what do i do with this now’ bc he already owned 5 copies of that image

anyway my point is: yuuri’s neighbours and family friends in hasetsu know ABOUT yuuri’s celebrity crush on some big-name figure skater, but not enough to put a face to the name or a name to the face or just figure out that present-day yuuri’s trophy husband and tiny yuuri’s cute kiddo crush are the same person. we’ve talked about yuuri being the clark kent of figure skating yes?? how Sad Boy with Soft Face and Japan’s Sexy Powerhouse Skater are contained in one physical shell and it blows everybody’s minds? well for the good people of hasetsu, there is our yuuri’s Famous Foreign Celebrity, and there is our yuuri’s Goofy Foreign Boyfriend. it never occurs to them that those two figures in yuuri’s life have anything in common. they have only the vaguest knowledge of the skating world and what viktor does.

‘are you a little bit jealous of yuuri’s skater man,’ the restaurant owners all say. they like to tease viktor. viktor’s very happy to be teased. he’s a good boy. he’s the Nice Boy yuuri brought home, parents approve™. ‘what’s his name again?’

‘something foreign-sounding,’ says the vegetable seller dismissively, waving a hand. she fills viktor’s basket up with cabbages. she always gives viktor more than he pays for. ‘can’t remember. it’s been years. have you heard of him?’

‘oh, here and there,’ viktor says, weighing fish with an expert hand. hiroko lets him go to market on his own to buy the week’s foodstuffs for the katsuki family, now that he’s learned how these things work. ‘don’t know what yuuri sees in him.’

‘just a handsome famous man,’ agrees the old fisherman on the bridge, equally dismissive. ‘you are much better. you’re a nice boy. everyone’s so glad our yuuri finally settled down with a nice boy like you.’


	13. yuuri's college study habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: i wonder if yuuri wld be the type of student who ran himself ragged until three am on concepts he didn't understand or the type who jus accepted his doom after a certain point

both. both at the same time. yuuri gets home late from training and has reading to do so he studies in his dorm room with the blankets up to his chin and he’s hungry and aching and he ends up snacking more than he’s supposed to. yuuri, being the night owl that he is, can keep himself going for a pretty long time (STAMINA), mostly because he conserves energy by not putting extra stress on his ‘i spent 5h translating this entire text into japanese so i could take better notes’ first-year-of-college self. yuuri is smart. he knows his own limits. yuuri does not sign up for any 8am classes. yuuri attends exactly one of those maths-for-athletes-look-we-just-need-you-to-pass-your-gen-ed-requirements-ok classes, and then he is like, ugh whatever, and skips that class for the rest of the semester to sleep in later on mondays. he only shows up for the final. yuuri oversleeps, and he can make it to his first lecture 15-20min late if he runs, but he just turns over in bed and decides to miss the entire day instead. 

yuuri does not push himself beyond what he knows he can take, for example: attempting to have a social life

he’s been to parties, but he’s no fool. he’s shy and not very likeable and if he just stays under the radar, nobody will notice him and he’ll be ok. yuuri stays late at the rink to practise and tries not to think about the hockey players staring at him judgmentally from the benches. yuuri chose this university for the ice rink

(who is that beautiful boy, whisper all the hockey players, while yuuri takes his glasses off and unconsciously tilts his hips in an enticing way as he glides onto the ice. no one knows. yuuri cringes and mentally double-checks to make sure he _does_ have booking rights to the rink right now)

yuuri gets back to his dorm past midnight. he can’t find his key card and tiredly considers sleeping on the grass patch outside before it falls out of the bottom of his bag. in the morning he drags his sludgy bones out of bed and into the communal bathrooms to shower, scratching his stomach under his two-week-old hoodie with the stain from an unlucky noodle splash on the front. the sinks are crusted with paint. red plastic cups spill over the counter and onto the grimy, wet floor. somebody left their dirty clothes hanging over the door of the shower cubicle and their underwear’s dropped onto the tiles and is now soaking. they’re out of soap, again. the shower drains are clogged up with hairs and semen

never mind, yuuri says, and he turns around and goes right back to his room and sleeps for the rest of the day.


	14. viktor is touch-starved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: SEE I think about how touch starved victor is, for someone who cares and and who he trusts, and yuuri is everything to him, so how does he react to the first of every type of touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know that scene in the handmaiden where hideko’s tooth is cutting the inside of her cheek, and sook-hee goes and gets a thimble and gently puts her finger into hideko’s mouth and files the tooth down with her thimble, and hideko’s eyes are half-closed and her hand with the candy still in it caresses sook-hee’s elbow as she’s sitting in the bath? viktor would die

Viktor doesn’t allow himself to _want_ , at first, because he’s seen how Yuuri’s parents give him space — gently, cautiously, like years of raising Yuuri have taught them not to infringe upon the oxygen he fights to keep for himself. Don’t crowd him. Let him come to you. Don’t linger too long.

Viktor lingers.

Yuuri lets him linger around the edges of Yuuri’s space, which is strange, which is unexpected (hug for good luck and hug for a reward, thumb pressing into the honey-soft curve of Yuuri’s mouth, flutter of a kiss on the temple), and _in_ , and closer still. He’s waiting to be rejected. Yuuri doesn’t seem to mind. Yuuri’s lowering himself into the hot spring after a long day of practice, blinking in contentment, and Viktor bites the inside of his cheek with the effort to — not look too hard, maybe. (Or lean over, just there, where the steam is wet and drowsy, into the warmth of Yuuri and the line of his back like a question mark. And just. Put his face between Yuuri’s shoulderblades. That’s all.)

Viktor is not used to wanting. He’s used to chasing and being chased, these simple things, like a smile secret and warm across the damp space of a nightclub and he doesn’t have to wait too long before there are hands on his waist. Viktor goes to bed easy, because it’s so easy to make him like you: just a little sweet-talking if necessary, and affection and the assurance that you want him, and he comes to you so willingly. He’s twenty-seven years old.

So he’s still figuring out the new rules of this reality when Yuuri twists around in his chair, calmly hands Viktor a comb and says, ‘Do my hair?’ and settles back into his seat as if the thought of Viktor saying _no_ never even occurred to him.

Viktor says, ‘Okay.’ And afterwards he zips up Yuuri’s costume, in that place where the black fabric stretches thin and inviting across the dip of Yuuri’s back, and he can’t. Stop thinking about it. So he presses his lips to Yuuri’s shoulder — just briefly, lightly, in the way that could be passed off as a joke if you had to. 

Yuuri freezes.

‘Yuuri?’ Viktor says, hands going still on the zipper, _pleasenopleasenoplease_. ‘Is this okay?’

‘It’s okay,’ says Yuuri, reaching over his shoulder to put his hand in Viktor’s hair without even looking. Drops his hand, then, and tangles their fingers together. ‘It’s okay.’

And then they’re in a hotel in Beijing and Yuuri’s climbing into Viktor’s lap with the silver medal still glinting around his neck, gasping, laughing, _show me, show me how much you want me_ , and Viktor does and he does and he does.


	15. assorted ficbits too difficult to classify

**[cafecliche](http://cafecliche.tumblr.com/) asked: FICLET PROMPTSSSS. Based on the tags on your post earlier I now want People Watching Yuuri Do Lovely and Inexplicable Things: The Fic. 5 of the loveliest things Yuuri has ever done as ranked by the skating community? Something like that?**

this is so hard because yuuri is one of those people who are constantly doing lovely things. it’s super frustrating as they are such tiny things that sound ordinary and less-than-impressive when described verbally, so nobody understands the appeal. no!!!! say all the hasetsu stall owners and strangers on trains and college dorm residents, hanging on to their friends’ elbows emphatically. you have to see him for yourself!!!!

yuuri, much like yuuri’s brain re: himself, makes everything difficult. because yuuri is not a Handsome Boy™ like…..idk, jj (yeah probably jj), nor does he have charisma like a physical forcefield around him (viktor, chris……in a way), and yuuri is not best viewed through a tasteful gaussian blur like ingrid bergman in _casablanca_. yuuri is best viewed in hd where you can see the pores and blemishes and _does he ever comb his hair_ and his glasses are slipping down his nose and then yuuri removes his earbuds in surprise when you speak to him and he didn’t hear you the first time and oh. jj is slightly stunned. too late, yuuri has put his earbuds back in and is once more absorbed in the Zone. the faint sliver of a window for interacting with katsuki yuuri has slipped away, never to be seen again (in this season)

yuuri gazes quietly at a spot somewhere in the vicinity of his shoes and the potted plant while waiting for the lift to come. what is he thinking about??? hi, yuuri! hi, sara, yuuri says. when seung-gil and michele start shit yuuri just turns around and walks away. yuuri doesn’t need to deal with this shit. yuuri is 23 going on 24, ok? yuuri has better things to do!!!! yuuri walks by completely engrossed in thinking about his programs and with the most Intense expression, and minami nearly has a heart attack. yuuri mops the ice with his competition at domestic events. then he gets on the top of the podium and rewards the cameras with the most beautiful smile with little wisps of his gelled hair sticking up and the entire audience feels their hearts lift in collective pure joy for a moment

that doesn’t sound like much. everybody does that, say the people who have never had the good fortune/misfortune to encounter the inexplicably lovely & unattainable katsuki yuuri.

you have to _see_ , insist the people who have.

the friends see for themselves.

well, shit, says everyone.

oh you’ve seen yuuri? ask all the other skaters, scratching the backs of their necks and grinning. what’s he done now?

* * *

phichit shaking his head furiously at viktor from somewhere in the background as yuuri mumbles some nonsense about nobody liking him in detroit (LIES, EVERYBODY WAS IN LOVE WITH YOU, YUURI, YOU BROKE HALF A DOZEN HEARTS A DAY) and viktor getting that glint in his eye and asking phichit later, as they wait for yuuri outside the men’s bathroom of the hotel restaurant, ‘so what really happened in america?’

phichit, in between flashbacks of yuuri at parties and yuuri with the hockey team and yuuri crawling back to the dorm the next morning with phone numbers sharpied on his ass, shakes his head again loyally. ‘can’t tell you. my lips are sealed.’

and viktor says, deeply satisfied, ‘i like you’

* * *

so in an au where none of them are skaters, the first time yuuri’s friends meet his boyfriend viktor, they all just stare dazedly into space for a while after he leaves until one of them says, tentatively, ‘does… his voice… naturally… sound like that? all the time?’

‘like what?’ yuuri says.

‘like a phone sex operator’

the first time viktor’s friends meet yuuri, they all turn to viktor after he leaves and go ‘does he just… naturally… look like that’

‘like what’

‘LIKE AN _ANGEL_ ’

* * *

**[kixboxer](https://kixboxer.tumblr.com/) asked: Prompt: Yuuri gets cajoled into judging a dance competition for reasons.**

so this is 1h per week of yuuri being [super charming](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DG9CTPnqyEf4&t=ZTdhMTUzMjc2YzYwOTU4YWQ4NWI5MTYwOThkOWFlZjQzZWVlYTY2NyxHUThVb1BDQw%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F159067512525%2Fprompt-yuuri-gets-cajoled-into-judging-a-dance&m=1) (pls click that link, it’s daisuke takahashi you will thank me TRUST ME) and delicate and graceful, totally oblivious to all the hearts he is winning bc he is so ABSORBED in what he’s doing, giving gentle criticism and demonstrating what the competitors are doing wrong in such a beautiful way that at some point the cameras just stop pretending to film the competition and focus on yuuri instead. it’s already a popular dance competition tv show in japan, so the show has its own strong following to begin with, but ratings jump 1000x whenever yuuri is on. at least 30% of the viewership consists of yuuri fans while the other 70% fall in love with the quiet judge with the messy hair who is shy when he knows the cameras are on him, but blossoms like a flower when he doesn’t. soon the youtube comments on yuuri’s old skate videos are full of people saying things like ‘who else came here from _____?’ (i can’t name reality tv shows) yuuri, of course, has no idea any of this is happening

yuuri is actually the harshest judge on the show (he trained under minako he’s SUPER CRITICAL), but he is so NICE about his critiques and delivers them in such a lovely way (you know the voice: soft, reserved, monotone) and sometimes has trouble making eye contact with the dancers he’s gently ripping to shreds. it is impossible to paint yuuri in reality-tv-brushstrokes as the simon cowell asshole judge. YOU CAN’T DO IT. THEY’VE TRIED. EVERYONE IS IN LOVE WITH YUURI. YUURI IS THE FAVOURITE JUDGE AND WHEN HE MAKES THOSE LITTLE FRUSTRATED NOISES IN THE BACK OF HIS THROAT PEOPLE WANT TO CRY OVER DISAPPOINTING KATSUKI YUURI

* * *

i like the idea of pre-banquet viktor falling a little bit in love with yuuri every time he sees him. a beautiful boy in a ratty old hoodie and loose jeans walks down the corridor of the hotel where all the skaters are staying, away from viktor, and viktor stares after his disappearing back and wonders. there’s this pretty face who features regularly on phichit chulanont’s instagram and always catches viktor’s eye before he shrugs and keeps scrolling. 

viktor forgets all these little moments as soon as they’re over, because he’s busy and depressed and just generally forgetful and katsuki ‘0-100 in 0.5 seconds’ yuuri is difficult to recognise from one encounter to the next - yuuri clark kents like the best of them. but viktor’s at one of the galas that blur into each other, smiling absently, gold medal heavy on his chest, bored bored _bored_ , and then japan’s ace skater takes the ice for his turn at the gala performances, and it’s like a fleeting new light in this world of sameness. japan’s ace skater soars past the rink barrier and smiles at viktor as he twizzles by and viktor’s heart skips a beat

* * *

‘why do you think i love you,’ yuuri says in their bedroom in st. petersburg, teasing, light, a rhetorical question.

‘mmm,’ says viktor, breathing in the warmth of yuuri’s skin. 'i’m very good at sex?’

'viktor,’ yuuri says, and viktor says, 'i don’t. i don’t know,’ and presses his cheek against yuuri’s collarbone

* * *

**[kixboxer](https://kixboxer.tumblr.com/) asked: Prompt: Driving School teacher Katsuki Yuuri struggles with his newest adult student Viktor Nikiforov.**

this will be 3k words of viktor nikiforov aggressively pretending he can’t drive so he can appreciate the little furrow in his driving instructor’s forehead, and the slight unconscious pout yuuri gets when he’s thinking of how to explain things better, and the deep patience with which yuuri corrects viktor’s increasingly desperate beginner’s mistakes. yuuri doesn’t suspect a thing, viktor tells himself. viktor nearly crashes his vintage pink cadillac trying to veer out of sight when yuuri walks out of a convenience store.

viktor, after narrowly escaping death and destruction and just bad life decisions all round, sheepishly pulls up to the curb. yuuri is waiting for him. viktor rolls down the window, clears his throat, takes off his gucci shades so he can make furtive eye contact with yuuri. yuuri doesn’t look impressed.

‘i can explain,’ viktor says,

yuuri just looks at him.

‘do you want to,’ viktor says. he glances at yuuri, sideways. he licks his lips. ‘do you want to go for a drive?’

yuuri gets into viktor’s car.

* * *

you’re like that extra piece of chocolate in a godiva best of collection, yuuri, viktor whispers as they nuzzle each other fondly in their big soft rumpled bed in st. petersburg at 11pm after a nice dinner and a walk with makkachin

you’re like the $2 ramen from walmart in detroit that picked me up after i had a shitty day, yuuri says

viktor sheds a tear


	16. a softer world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [(a softer world prompts: send an ask with a number + a ship)](http://kevystel.tumblr.com/post/162162043835)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nearly every fic prompt becomes an excuse for me to write about viktor nikiforov’s insecurities

**9.[CAN’T STOP WON’T STOP NOT SURE HOW TO STOP (WHY STOP)](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.asofterworld.com%2Findex.php%3Fid%3D1024&t=YTExZDE4MGFkOGVjOWQzOGQ4YzljMDJjYjFjNGJmYTlkZDJjZGQ2MCxwbE5qc3diSw%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F162162043835%2F50-a-softer-world-prompts&m=1)**

After his senior debut the world sits up and takes notice of Viktor Nikiforov. Viktor, who was born to be taken notice of, adapts to this new state of things very easily. He’s a natural at having people’s attention on him. He’s got thick eyelashes and the kind of French-chic cheekbones that catch the eye, features he inherited from his stunning mother, and he gets into the habit of using them well. It’s a good habit. It’s the high he never quite comes down from.

Viktor discovers early on that he likes people. People like Viktor back, usually. He doesn’t really know what his personality is, but it must be charming. Most of all he likes skating, likes  _creating_  and the pleasure that comes with it, breaking open the blisters on his feet only just beginning to heal but making everything look easy. Being Viktor Nikiforov is so easy he’s almost disappointed. Several years later he’ll tell Katsuki Yuuri, ‘Your body moves like it’s creating music,’ and think,  _I used to be like that once_.

The years pass quickly when he counts them by the gold medals he’s won. He sleeps with someone and forgets to call, twice. He gets dumped, twice. After that he stops pretending to be interested in serious relationships.

 _Take a break_ , says Yakov, and Viktor says,  _no, no, I’m coming to the rink today, where else would I go_.

* * *

**34.[When you’re around I don’t know how to hide my feelings.  I count in binary, in my head.  zero one one zero one one and you count clouds. (while you count clouds)](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.asofterworld.com%2Findex.php%3Fid%3D27&t=ZjY1NzkwMTk1NGNjZTdkMGZkMWYwMjAzMWMxOTQ5ODFlODY3MDY0ZCxwbE5qc3diSw%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F162162043835%2F50-a-softer-world-prompts&m=1)**

Yuuri worries that the inside of his head is so transparent Viktor can see it burning from a mile off.

The entirety of Hasetsu seems to be overflowing, somehow, with this secret that barely pretends to be a secret, this shameful adoration. Everywhere Yuuri looks, there are dog-eared posters of himself peeling off the walls of the train station, posing like he could ever come close to Viktor’s glory. The old fisherman Yuuri passes to get to the rink every morning used to ask him if he’d met his favourite yet. Yuuko doesn’t say anything, bless her, but her smile some afternoons is knowing. Neighbours used to give him Viktor merchandise for  _birthday presents_.

Yuuri wants to die.

And it’s not like having Viktor here —  _here_ , sleeping in the inn, eating their food, sleeping just down the corridor from Yuuri — is  _easy_. Viktor’s presence soaks into the ceiling, the floorboards. Perfume. His gaze is heavy. Yuuri has to force himself to maintain eye contact.

And they’re in the transition stage between ‘Viktor Nikiforov is here in my  _house_ ’ and the comfort of Viktor just being  _known_ , of the awe being stripped away until there’s only charm left behind and his presence is a frayed blanket Yuuri can sink into. Right now, he’s still learning the crinkles of Viktor and letting Viktor become a human being, and the weeks are haphazard and undefined, slipping through Yuuri’s fingers.

Yuuri doesn’t know how to deal with this  _situation_  when he opens his bedroom door one morning to Viktor leaning in the doorframe, eyes half-lidded, the warmth of him pooling around their feet. 

‘ _Yuuri_ ,’ says Viktor in the tone he always uses for Yuuri’s name, like Yuuri’s mere existence is a delight to him. Yuuri’s vulnerability must be written all over his face.

‘I haven’t overslept,’ Yuuri says. His cheeks are beginning to feel hot. ‘My alarm hasn’t gone off yet.’

Viktor blinks at him: a long sleepy blink, all curious,  _did you think that was why I was here?_  ‘Yes. Come down to the well with me, I want to show you something.’

‘Before practice?’

Viktor’s teeth sink into his lower lip. Yuuri thinks about Viktor padding across the dawn-cool floorboards to Yuuri’s room across the corridor, lingering in front of the door, finally raising his fist to knock. Yuuri has been staring at him too long. ‘Before practice.’

Yuuri’s ribcage swells despite himself. There is too much of him. Yuuri’s far out of his depth. ‘Okay,’ he says, trying not to hesitate, trying not to embarrass himself, ‘I need to get changed,’ and he steps back and lets the door swing shut in Viktor’s face.

* * *

**48.[Life would be way easier if I were easier. (Fact.)](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.asofterworld.com%2Findex.php%3Fid%3D473&t=OGRiM2EyZjk1MGE2NmE5OGU0YTZkMTgzNmEyYTM0Zjg1OWVjNWY2NCxwbE5qc3diSw%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F162162043835%2F50-a-softer-world-prompts&m=1)**

‘Don’t touch me,’ Yuuri snaps, and Viktor lifts his hands from Yuuri’s shoulders as though he’s been stung. He retreats then, palms up, to show he isn’t going to step into Yuuri’s space again. Yuuri sits on the lip of the rink and puts his face in his hands. It’s the first episode he’s had since Viktor arrived in Hasetsu.

‘Sorry,’ he says, later, while they’re sitting on the bench outside Hasetsu Ice Castle in the cherry-cold air, ‘I’m… sorry.’

Viktor, who doesn’t seem to know how to handle apologies, is quiet for a long moment. One of his hands strokes Makkachin between the ears distractedly. The bones of Viktor’s wrists are prominent and fine, and next to him, his own hands squeezed between his knees, Yuuri feels unloveable. 

‘What would you like me to do?’

‘If I knew what to do,’ Yuuri says, ‘I wouldn’t be this much of a problem.’

* * *

**9.[CAN’T STOP WON’T STOP NOT SURE HOW TO STOP (WHY STOP)](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.asofterworld.com%2Findex.php%3Fid%3D1024&t=YTExZDE4MGFkOGVjOWQzOGQ4YzljMDJjYjFjNGJmYTlkZDJjZGQ2MCxwbE5qc3diSw%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F162162043835%2F50-a-softer-world-prompts&m=1)**

The problem is that Viktor doesn’t have serious relationships. He’s never known how those work. He can count on one hand the strangers he’s cared about. He had skating and he gave all of himself to skating, and it took and took and then there was nothing left.

So he doesn’t… he doesn’t know how to slow down. He’s not sure if he should. He’s not sure whether he  _can_. He has no experience with this sort of thing. Are you supposed to want to marry someone after knowing them for barely a year? It burns under his skin, this flush, this sudden colour of blood in his chest, the desperation:  _I’d change my life for you. I’d spend the rest of it with you, easily. Willingly. I’d fly across the world for you again, a hundred times over._

He’s happy to be anyone Yuuri wants him to be. He spends a couple of weeks trying out different personas, flicking through them like he’s shuffling a deck of cards, until Yuuri looks at him with narrowed eyes and tells him to stop. After that Viktor flounders.

* * *

**46.[We are terrible for each other, and, yes, we are a disaster.  But tell me your heart doesn’t race for a hurricane or a burning building.  I’d rather die terrified than live forever. (mistakes aren’t always regrets)](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.asofterworld.com%2Findex.php%3Fid%3D234&t=YTIxODRhMzMyZTFlZjEzODYxMjA0YWY5OTZhYTJkMTU2YmM5ZjhhNixwbE5qc3diSw%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F162162043835%2F50-a-softer-world-prompts&m=1)**

‘I don’t…’ Viktor says, and pauses, head cocked and poised like quicksilver.

Yuuri has already wriggled under the heavy coverlet, and he doesn’t bother peeking out from the warmth of the hotel bed to meet Viktor’s eyes. The sheets are clean and very soft and Yuuri’s exhausted. ‘Come here.’

Viktor complies — Yuuri can hear the little noises of him complying — toeing off his shoes, jacket left on the back of a chair, the neat, precise crinkling of shirtsleeves rolled up. A quick run of one hand through his hair, glancing in the mirror opposite. Feet quiet, tentative on the deep carpet between them, sinking into it, taking slow footsteps like he can mark his presence that way:  _I was here, in this room. I was invited._

Beijing is not-quite-asleep outside Yuuri’s lamplit hotel room. He’s burrowed under the covers where it’s safe and warm, and he’s not about to poke his head out again, but he can figure out what Viktor is doing across the room, more or less, from the sounds of Viktor’s breathing. Which is nice.

He doesn’t think Viktor’s ever made anyone cry before. (At least, in front of Viktor.) He doesn’t think Viktor knows how to cry.

Yuuri sits up in bed. ‘Hurry  _up_ , Viktor,’ he says. ‘The bed’s cold without you.’

‘Okay, Yuuri,’ says Viktor, breath rushing out in a flood of relief, and then he gets into bed beside Yuuri with all his clothes on, which is unlike Viktor, but — still. It’s a start.

They’re okay.

Yuuri presses his cheek to the cool pillow. Viktor smells nice, as he usually does. The scent used to get Yuuri’s pulse racing. Just, you know, the overwhelming closeness of it. The proximity. At some point in the past few months, the spooling of Yuuri’s brain where Viktor is concerned worked its way around from  _you’re too good for me_  to  _you, you are good for me_. Yuuri doesn’t know exactly when that happened. He hasn’t been worrying about that. He hasn’t been thinking about it too much.

Right now, they are both thinking very loudly.

Yuuri reaches out in the darkness and puts his fingertip against Viktor’s mouth. ‘Stop thinking so much,’ he whispers.

‘I wasn’t,’ Viktor lies. But he closes his eyes. He leans into the touch.

* * *

**32.[I think you are beautiful and I would like to kiss you.  I can think up some clever lines, if you’d prefer.  But I wanted to say that, first. (None of those lines seemed to be about you or me.)](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.asofterworld.com%2Findex.php%3Fid%3D319&t=MTg4ZmE4MzczMDZkYTEzZmMyNGNmNjExOGRiNTM1OWVkYjQ2ZTE1NCxwbE5qc3diSw%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F162162043835%2F50-a-softer-world-prompts&m=1)**

‘Really,’ Yuuri says, sprawling loose and relaxed across the slight remaining gap where they’ve pushed their twin beds together in the Barcelona hotel room. His arms are crossed behind his head, and his hair’s rumpled and sticking to the pillow and he has one bare foot propped on the curve of his bent knee, and he looks at Viktor through lowered eyelashes like a king. ‘What would you say to me then, playboy?’

‘Please-can-I-kiss-you-now,’ says Viktor, eyes wide.

Yuuri chokes out a little laugh disguised as a sigh. ‘Okay.’

* * *

**17.[I do not believe in love at first sight.  But god damn. (Look at you.)](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.asofterworld.com%2Findex.php%3Fid%3D1000&t=NDI5MjE1MTUxM2FlYTk3YjliN2M5ODMxODRiM2ZlZTRiOWI1ZWIyYSxwbE5qc3diSw%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F162162043835%2F50-a-softer-world-prompts&m=1)**

Yuuri has grown up so accustomed to Viktor’s face that looking at Viktor has never quite felt like studying the features of a stranger. He remembers Viktor only through the thick filter of posters and video clips and Photoshopped ad campaigns, glossy magazine pages, but Viktor’s features are distinctive enough. Every quiet, new discovery has a tang of familiarity to it, like recognising an old perfume — the high cheekbones and bridge of the nose, the clarity of his side profile, the sudden smirk under the flashes of a thousand cameras. Seeing that in person makes something warm coil low in Yuuri’s stomach.

‘No, come here,’ Yuuri says now, petulant. ‘I want to look at you.’

Viktor laughs and sits up, indulging him. He’s been burying his face in Yuuri’s sweater, mouth sweet and open on Yuuri’s throat, and he leans back into the curve of their couch, bringing Yuuri closer to him by the wrists. Dusk nestles at the curtains of their apartment in St. Petersburg; the evening is slow and warm. Viktor always knows just how to catch the lamplight. He angles himself invitingly, so well-practised that he doesn’t seem to realise he’s doing it. Yuuri notes this with some amusement and absolutely zero surprise.

Yuuri puts the back of his hand against Viktor’s face. Opens his palm then, turns his hand around, lets Viktor turn his cheek into Yuuri’s palm. Yuuri can feel Viktor’s eyelashes brushing his fingers. They’re snuggled practically into each other’s laps, and Yuuri almost frowns; he’s so intent on memorising what he has here under his hands, translating a child’s memory of Viktor Nikiforov age fifteen into Viktor Nikiforov, age twenty-eight, closing his eyes at the feel of Yuuri’s skin on his.

Yuuri blinks. The brief image of fifteen-year-old Viktor (or Yuuri-Viktor, what  _Yuuri_  remembers of seeing Viktor) superimposes itself onto his husband now, and fades away. It’s still a lingering shock to his senses when he watches old interviews for nostalgia’s sake. Knowing Viktor inside and out, now, makes Yuuri detect the itch of Viktor’s thoughts in the videos, when all everybody (past and present) could see was poise. Yuuri can’t  _not_  see the flaws. The small vulnerabilities.

‘Done looking?’ Viktor asks, pleasure lining the satin of his voice. He’s teasing; Yuuri knows he enjoys the attention on him, likes feeling known; and Viktor knows Yuuri knows.

Little things. Things you can’t see unless you’re living in each other’s shoes, telling your secrets. The tear troughs under Viktor’s eyes, dark circles that don’t say much about the amount of sleep he got, they’re just a side effect of his bone structure; hair so fine he wakes up with terrible bedhead.

‘Not yet.’ Yuuri kisses his eyelids. ‘What are  _you_  looking at?’

(The next morning Yuuri turns to Viktor in the street just outside their building as he’s pulling a beanie down over his ears, which are reddened from the cold, and Viktor has another of  _those_  moments. The ones he gets approximately twice a day. The moments which tell him that — if he didn’t already love Yuuri, if he hadn’t loved Yuuri from the minute he saw him — now would be the time.)

* * *

**48.[Life would be way easier if I were easier. (Fact.)](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.asofterworld.com%2Findex.php%3Fid%3D473&t=OGRiM2EyZjk1MGE2NmE5OGU0YTZkMTgzNmEyYTM0Zjg1OWVjNWY2NCxwbE5qc3diSw%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F162162043835%2F50-a-softer-world-prompts&m=1)**

‘If you’d known me earlier,’ Viktor begins. He takes a breath. ‘You could have. Braided my hair, maybe.’

They share a dressing room because of course they do. Yuuri, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration, is sifting through the strands of Viktor’s hair with a fine comb. Yuuri’s already zipped himself into his own free skate costume, and just now, he took the little pot from the dressing table and applied lip balm to himself without waiting for Viktor to do that for him. 

‘Mmm-hmm,’ says Yuuri, putting the comb between his teeth and holding it there briefly. He leans over Viktor for a second, smoothes the crown of Viktor’s head with his thumbs and then studies his work in the mirror, eyelashes flickering as though something about Viktor’s reflection contents him.

Yuuri doesn’t ask,  _are you ready?_  Viktor wasn’t exaggerating when he told Yuuri he used to always sleep till the last minute before his events. Yuuri doesn’t bother with stupid questions. 

Instead he takes Viktor’s hand and kisses the ring, quickly, absent-mindedly, asks: ‘What else would you have let me do?’

‘You wouldn’t have liked me before,’ Viktor says. Thinking. He looks good in the mirror; he’s not worried about his free skate, and neither is Yakov; Yakov has no reason to be. Viktor is extremely talented, and extremely beautiful. It’s just that the rest of him isn’t worth much.

‘Try me.’

* * *

**32.[I think you are beautiful and I would like to kiss you.  I can think up some clever lines, if you’d prefer.  But I wanted to say that, first. (None of those lines seemed to be about you or me.)](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.asofterworld.com%2Findex.php%3Fid%3D319&t=MTg4ZmE4MzczMDZkYTEzZmMyNGNmNjExOGRiNTM1OWVkYjQ2ZTE1NCxwbE5qc3diSw%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F162162043835%2F50-a-softer-world-prompts&m=1)**

Yuuri’s not so good with compliments. Giving or receiving. He just — cups Viktor’s face in his palms, that’s all, tries to spell out with his fingertips the words he can’t quite get his mouth around.

The tip of Viktor’s nose goes pink whenever Yuuri touches him. It scares Yuuri how well he can read Viktor’s expression even when Viktor’s bangs are falling into his eyes. Yuuri’s own power scares him; he wishes he deserved it.

Yuuri says, helpless, ‘I think you’re beautiful,’ and Viktor’s eyes go dark, and Yuuri thinks:  _you could make this man do anything for you_.


	17. yuuri's first gpf exhibition skate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cafecliche asked: I'm grateful to your music headcanons for so many reasons but especially for the fact that whenever Love Me Like You Do comes up on my iPod I imagine Yuuri, skating in a GPF exhibition slot he's sure he hasn't earned, while the audience weeps openly and Victor leads so far forward over the boards he almost flips over them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS BUT I’M GOING TO OUTLINE THE ENTIRE EXHIBITION PROGRAM FOR YOU ANYWAY (with @n-x-northwest)

the lighting’s soft and dark and yuuri looks soft, his hair down because he’s run out of fucks to give. the gala commentators don’t bother announcing his placing at the gpf; everybody already knows. yuuri doesn’t hear the cheering from his fans as he comes onto the ice. he doesn’t like sympathy

yuuri goes from his starting pose into silky movement so smoothly, so weightlessly that it almost lets him forget how much he’s been eating. he feels light. he reaches out and brings his hand, closed, back towards his chest; he swings close to the edge at ‘let me take you past this satellite’ to be nearer the audience, and the first quiet chorus is a step sequence. at ‘every inch of your skin is a holy grail i’ve gotta find’ his edgework is beautiful enough to hear, and it’s nice, you know, to think that he’s still got this

commentators always say that yuuri’s ballet training is prominent in his skating, so he has minako to thank, even if he hasn’t brought home enough trophies to  _not_  disgrace the woman who won the benois de la danse. still, the step sequence at ‘let you set the pace’ gives him pleasure, and the spin at ‘i’m not thinking straight’ is decent, he thinks (decent by yuuri’s standards, yuuri who is famous for his spins)

anyway the gear-up to the Big Chorus is a triple axel nobody was expecting. yuuri usually has competition-grade gala skates but tonight he’s changing up the jumps. yuri plisetsky sits up straight in his seat. viktor is frowning. yuuri doesn’t notice the audience noticing how much space he can take up with simple gestures, it’s dark and he’s not wearing his glasses and yuuri’s not exactly one to enjoy making eye contact with his audience

in the next quiet ‘i’ll let you set the pace’ pre-chorus he does a hydroblade, looks up at his raised arm like it ought to carry him far away from here. lovely graceful twizzle at ‘my head’s spinning around’ and yuuri doesn’t understand why that gets so much applause, anybody can do this. never mind, he’s deep in his own head now. yuuri nails his last jump combo at 3:10, great, okay (viktor, who is scoring yuuri’s program in his head because he can’t help himself, has both elbows propped on the boards, fingers steepled in front of his mouth). the cheers don’t stop after that. 

wait, actually, have a gorgeous [delayed single axel](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2Fhf1tul6kEd8%3Ft%3D3m32s&t=YTczOTc0ZjFlZmFiODkxZDYzYTQxMThiZTAzZDE1MDZiYjdiNGM0MixYOXEza3NrQg%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F162591494920%2Fim-grateful-to-your-music-headcanons-for-so-many&m=1), surprise fuckers you thought you’d seen the last of my stamina. is this a joke with myself about how i popped all my jumps in the second half of my free skate?? probably. end with another spin, nice and clean. he hasn’t flubbed a single element in this program. he ignores the commentators’ gushing, their wistful speculation about what could have been - yuuri’s life is an endless list of could-have-beens that turned into couldn’t’s. so he tries not to listen to the applause.

viktor nikiforov, men’s seniors gold medallist for the fifth time in a row, who’s just finished totalling up the score yuuri would’ve gotten if this was a competition skate, looks  _pissed_. months later he’ll make the same face when he watches yuuri skate stammi vicino from the sofa in his lonely st. petersburg apartment. ‘hey, yuuri -’ chris says, leaning across the boards as yuuri drags himself off the ice.

yuuri keeps walking.


	18. FUCKING CAT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 4, Yuri and Otabek
> 
> 4. [i don’t know what the fuck true love even is but i do want to hang out with you for basically the rest of my life. (let’s hang out - TO THE DEATH)](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.asofterworld.com%2Findex.php%3Fid%3D1113&t=MWFmMjA3OTlkZGZjMDM3ZWQwNThjMTVmZDE0MDQ5YjE4MzkxYjIwNSxwbE5qc3diSw%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F162162043835%2F50-a-softer-world-prompts&m=1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on [this post](http://kevystel.tumblr.com/post/162504035625)

_Did you ever find your cat,_ Otabek Altin cautiously taps out.

The phone number on the “I LOST MY FUCKING CAT” poster, which has been plastered near Otabek’s gym for the past month, takes a few minutes to start typing. When a message finally comes in, it’s a photo: some elfin blond boy with a killer smile, beaming over the top of his cat’s head. The cat is a handsome creature. The boy is also a handsome creature. Otabek approves of their union.

 _I FOUND MY FUCKING CAT_ , the phone number blares.  _HER NAME IS PUMA TIGER SCORPION ISN’T SHE BEAUTIFUL_

The cat does not in any way resemble a puma, a tiger or a scorpion. It has little paws, and soft grey-and-white fur. The cat is fluffy.

Otabek blinks at the screen for a few seconds.

Then he opens his front-facing camera, snaps a quick selfie of himself giving a thumbs-up and hits send.

 _I KNOW_ , his phone yells back.  _follow me on instagram @yuri_plisetsky i post pics of my cat every week and im also hot as fuck_  


	19. skaters with glass hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: consider this fic prompt: By the way - didn't I break your heart?

Yuuri doesn’t spend a lot of time after the GPF apologising. He’s never been the  _sorry-for-existing_  type of anxious, too guarded, too secretive about what’s inside him; you hardly feel guilt about the way you treat other people when you’re convinced nobody cares about you. You don’t know what it feels like. You don’t know how to learn to care.

This has protected him, somehow, all through the twenty-four years of his life. Yuuri doesn’t lie awake at night fretting over the brief moments in which he opened up to people and exposed the vulnerable parts of him. Wishing he could take back the words. Worrying about what others think of him. He’s not shy. Yuuri’s attitude towards the rest of the world has always been  _take me or leave me_ , and then he left before people had the chance to leave him.

‘Yes,’ says Viktor, on their last night in Barcelona. ‘I know what you mean.’

‘I don’t…’ Yuuri stops, and sighs. His pauses go on for very long. Viktor is surprisingly patient with him, for someone whose brain works as fast as Viktor’s. It’s funny.  _Yuuri_  wouldn’t be patient with himself. ‘Do you know, in Detroit, there was one time when Phichit — and I didn’t know what to do, Phichit was always better at, at comforting people, even though he’s younger — we’re in our dorm room and I’m sitting at the foot of the bed frantically Googling “what to do when your friend is crying”.’

Viktor makes a suspicious noise.

‘I found out eventually,’ says Yuuri. ‘I found a good article on WikiHow. Are you laughing or crying?’

‘Yes,’ Viktor says, which is the opposite of an answer. Yuuri pulls him close.

‘Don’t let me break your heart.’

Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri’s waist. ‘I won’t.’


	20. 'things you said' prompts

**9\. things you said when i was crying**

‘Can you turn around,’ Yuuri says, hiccuping. ‘And… not look. Stand over there.’

Viktor looks stricken. ‘Okay.’

Yuuri sits down on the lip of the rink and lets himself sob. He can feel Viktor hovering anxiously from several metres away, as though the magnetic pull of Yuuri’s attention ought to bring him closer.

‘Can I just…’ The clean solidity of Viktor’s blades sweeping across the ice, the sound so deep as to be comforting, slides past Yuuri and comes to a stop just outside Yuuri’s no-tolerance zone. Viktor sounds like he’s about to cry himself. ‘Water?’

Yuuri makes a small,  _I-don’t-care_  jerky motion of his head. Viktor slides away.

‘Everything okay?’ Yuuko calls from the entrance of the locker room, her voice careful.

‘I have it,’ Viktor says. His English goes a bit funny when he’s agitated. His swift precise movements — listening to them is always so satisfying, like the simplicity of running your palm across a satin-smooth tablecloth — bring him to a point directly in front of Yuuri and pause some distance away, and then Viktor slips round to approach Yuuri from the side instead. 

Yuuri’s water bottle is lowered into his line of vision. Yuuri takes it. He taps his fingers against Viktor’s calf, by feel, not looking up at Viktor, and at this signal Viktor sinks down beside Yuuri. The water bottle is dangling upside down in Yuuri’s hands, unused, and he feels Viktor’s fingers close around the lower half of the bottle. Yuuri lets Viktor pry it from his absent fingers.

Viktor unscrews the cap of Yuuri’s water bottle. Holds it carefully, an offer at arm’s length. Yuuri closes his eyes, accepts the water bottle and sips.

He turns to Viktor only after he’s finished drinking. Yuuri can’t look at Viktor head-on, only through his damp eyelashes, and yet the mere movement breaks something loose between them. Viktor pulls Yuuri to him, roughly, cups the back of Yuuri’s neck. He doesn’t rub Yuuri’s back like Yuuko does. Yuuri’s eyes focus on some blur of fabric nearby: the loose black of Viktor’s favourite shirt, the waistband of his practice pants in crumpling detail. Viktor kisses the top of Yuuri’s head. In the moment, Yuuri doesn’t even register it.

* * *

**16\. things you said with no space between us**

Viktor frowns when Yuuri pulls away; he makes such sweet noises when Yuuri kisses him that Yuuri almost doesn’t want to, and kissing him long enough turns Viktor into a streak of helpless feeling, calculations stripped away:  _no, why did you stop, come back._

‘Shh, shh,’ Yuuri says, reaching over Viktor to get the lube from their bedside drawer, ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

* * *

**8\. things you said when you were crying**

‘It’s okay,’ Phichit gasps. Yuuri’s frowning, and the crease of his eyelids is so sweet Phichit feels bad for making him look that way. ‘I’m just. It’s just.’ He wipes his eyes on his sleeve. ‘I don’t mind coming in last. Actually, I do mind. Just a little.’

‘But you did so well,’ says Yuuri, distressed. He takes Phichit’s hands in his. ‘You… the scores were so close, you know, this year. You could’ve made the podium if this were last year. And you won the Cup of China. And it’s your first time.’

They’re sitting together on the bench outside a quiet third-floor bathroom, the evening bustle fading into an anticipatory silence before tonight’s gala, and… Phichit was just, you know. He was looking forward to showing everyone his exhibition skate. That’s all.

Yuuri puts his arm around Phichit and makes a soft, upset kitten-noise. Phichit puts his head on Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri doesn’t mind being touched as long as it’s not being done with the intention of comforting  _him_. Yuuri fishes out a packet of tissues and offers one to Phichit.

Phichit blows his nose. Despite himself, he smiles. ‘Yuuri, these are all things I said to you last year. Those were my  _exact words_.’

‘That’s different,’ Yuuri replies nonsensically. He shakes his head as if to clear it. ‘I’m just me. You’re  _you_.’

* * *

**13\. things you said at the kitchen table**

‘I made,’ Yuuri says. He frowns down at the plate in his hands as though he’s not sure how it got there. ‘I made breakfast?’

There’s already a second plate waiting at Viktor’s place at the table — Viktor has  _a place set for him at the table_. Viktor has no memory of the last time he ate at his kitchen table. To be fair, he has no memory of using most of the things in his apartment.

‘It’s just eggs,’ says Yuuri, wrinkling his nose just slightly. ‘There wasn’t much in your fridge.’ He leans over and prods at the steaming…  _something_ … on Viktor’s plate with the delicate tines of a fork. Viktor will have to teach Yuuri how to cook. ‘And tea? I just took these mugs out of the cupboard. I didn’t know which one was your favourite.’

Viktor didn’t know he had a favourite mug. The idea has never occurred to him. He takes a bite of his eggs, blinking, dazed, and focuses on Yuuri’s bare toes scrunching against the leg of the kitchen table. Coming back to Russia has sent the world teetering on its newfound axis, a little shaky after all these months, a little more unstable, and waking up alone on their very first morning together in St. Petersburg — the bedsheets left rumpled by Yuuri’s absence — made something in Viktor’s half-conscious self go suddenly cold.

Yuuri’s foot lifts off the floorboards and scratches at his other ankle. His fork scrapes against the plate. ‘Viktor?’

‘You’re still here,’ Viktor blurts.

Yuuri squints at Viktor; it makes his glasses slip down his nose. ‘I live here.’

* * *

**15\. things you said with too many miles between us**

Yuuri leans against the doorframe of his Kadoma hotel room, toeing his shoes off. He tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder as he closes the door, locks it, and leaves his key card on the dresser. ‘And what are you going to do with your medal?’

‘Throw it away,’ Viktor says. ‘I don’t care.’

‘Vitya.’

Viktor inhales, then exhales. ‘I’m okay.’

‘No, talk to me.’

‘It’s just a gold. I have plenty.’

Yuuri massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. ‘I’ll bring you some more. Would you like that?’

‘Okay,’ Viktor says. A bit of warmth returns to his voice. The night’s quiet outside the curtains, and Yuuri pads across the carpet to press his forehead against the windowpane. ‘Your quad axel was not bad.’ Viktor’s tired; his English is getting stilted, his accent heavier. ‘Shaky landing —’ this is an understatement, ‘— but not bad. You could try again at Worlds.’

Yuuri flops down on the single bed, still dressed, and turns his cheek into the pillow. Two national champions talking to each other across the distance. ‘Maybe.’

‘It’ll be your signature jump,’ Viktor continues, audibly brightening, tone lifting a little and a little more, ‘like my quad flip.’

Yuuri closes his eyes. A curl of anxiety licks its way around his chest. ‘I’m not on your level yet.’

‘ _Yet_ ,’ says Viktor in honeyed pleasure.

* * *

**19\. things you said when we were the happiest we ever were**

Viktor’s whole demeanour lights up like a spark put to a wire when he spots Yuuri. It doesn’t matter that Yuuri can barely make out Viktor’s expression from the entrance to their St. Petersburg rink; Viktor’s air, posture, everything changes. Ignoring Yakov’s irritation behind him, Viktor crosses the entire rink in fast, powerful strokes, skidding over to the barrier to lean up for a kiss.

‘I’m back,’ Yuuri says breathlessly, pulling off his gloves so he can clasp Viktor’s hands in his own and feel the cool gold of Viktor’s ring against his skin. He’s pulling off his medal too, the weight of his gold where it’s tucked safely into his jacket. ‘Did you miss me? Here. Brought you a present.’

‘Missed you,’ says Viktor, fervent. Somewhere in the background Yurio is muttering to himself. Yuuri can’t handle holding both Viktor’s hands and kissing Viktor and letting Viktor kiss his gold medal all at once, and in the resulting confusion he just hangs the medal around Viktor’s neck instead. ‘About to fly across the globe for you.’

‘Again?’ Yuuri says. He’s laughing; they’re both overwhelmed. ‘There wasn’t a hot spring there. I’d have to drop you in the toilet.’

Viktor blushes.

* * *

**3\. things you said too quietly**

Viktor wakes up to Yuuri looking at him. Yuuri’s sitting up in bed, curled against the headboard with one arm over Makkachin and Makkachin’s head and paws in his lap, and his eyes are sleep-crusted; he must’ve just woken up himself. Viktor gazes at them both for a bleary minute or two, unsurprised.

‘You scared me last night,’ Yuuri says, his voice very quiet. Makkachin’s still asleep, snuggled between them; it doesn’t seem right to talk about these things in front of Makkachin.

 _And yet you’re still here_ , Viktor does not think. He puts a hand out to feel Yuuri. Yuuri smoothes Viktor’s hair back from his forehead.

‘Really?’ Viktor can’t remember what he said last night. He must have said a lot of things, then. ‘I’m sorry.’

Yuuri makes a low, dissatisfied noise full of the matter-of-fact stubbornness Viktor adores:  _don’t be sorry, what’s the point_. He puts his arms around Viktor and pulls Viktor’s head into his lap. Viktor twists around to put his cheek against the cool, velvety skin exposed where Yuuri’s shirt rides up. His mind goes comfortably blank, but Yuuri’s must still be lingering on some forgotten remark or other, for Yuuri asks:

‘Do you really think that?’

Viktor has no idea what Yuuri’s talking about. Viktor thinks a lot of things. Viktor replies anyway (muffled into Yuuri’s belly, arm draped over Yuuri’s thighs), ‘Sometimes.’

Above him, there’s a long pause. When Viktor glances up, Yuuri looks so upset that Viktor slips his hand beneath Yuuri’s shirt to get his palm on Yuuri’s skin. Yuuri cups the back of Viktor’s head. Next to them, Makkachin snuffles and seems to be stirring, and Yuuri absently reaches out and scratches between Makkachin’s ears to soothe him back into slumber.

‘You make me better,’ Viktor says.

‘How?’

‘By being you.’

Yuuri is holding him very tightly. Viktor turns his head to press his lips to the inside of Yuuri’s elbow. His eyelashes brush Yuuri’s skin. ‘I wish I could make you better all the time.’

* * *

**18\. things you said when you were scared**

Viktor has his back to Yuuri when Yuuri comes out of the bathroom. But the door’s been left open throughout Yuuri’s shower, warm shampoo scents cooling on the back of Viktor’s neck, and they’re so familiar with each other that Viktor can see Yuuri in his mind’s eye now: drying his face on the towel, hair curling and wet, his cheeks flushed from the steam and droplets of water collecting in the hollow of his collarbone.

Yuuri walks around the edge of the bed and sets his phone on the nightstand to charge. Viktor listens to him move. Then the mattress creaks and dips as Yuuri settles himself in bed behind Viktor, arm sliding into place over Viktor’s waist. Viktor opens his eyes. Near their feet, Makkachin snuffles and stirs.

‘What are you thinking about,’ Yuuri says quietly.

Viktor watches the dim shadows of the curtains moving on the wall. Yuuri presses his mouth to Viktor’s shoulder. His arm is snug around Viktor; Viktor raises Yuuri’s hand to his lips and kisses Yuuri’s fingertips. Yuuri reads Viktor so easily, intuitively, while Viktor works hard to do the same for him. 

‘Do you ever,’ Viktor begins. He stops. Collects his thoughts. Resumes: ‘Do you ever, do you, when you’re talking to people, do you ever just mirror their personalities?’ He closes his eyes and waits. Yuuri doesn’t pull away from him. Yuuri’s breathing stays even and real, close to his ear. ‘And you can have conversations on autopilot. And their reactions are so predictable.’

There’s a pause. Yuuri hums. Viktor gazes at the lamp on his side of the bed, a shadowy outline in the darkness, and waits some more. He’s quite sure of what comes next. Yuuri is supposed to say  _it’s okay_. But it’s not; Viktor knows it’s not. It’s not okay.

‘Do you like me because I’m unpredictable?’ Yuuri asks.

‘ _No_ ,’ Viktor says. ‘I love you because you’re you.’

Yuuri raises his chin just slightly and rests it on Viktor’s shoulder, a slow, unruffled motion:  _checkmate_. ‘See.’


	21. soothing rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> classicalcassiopeia asked: I love Victor doing a full face of makeup on the Bad Days, but has Yuuri ever let Victor do a full and dramatic face on him if the day is particularly Terrible and feels like it's stretching out into forever?

‘Do you usually put makeup on with your fingers,’ Yuuri says flatly, ‘or are you just looking for excuses to touch my face?’

The corner of Viktor’s mouth quirks up. They’re seated on the edge of the bed, little pots and jars and untouched palettes strewn amongst the covers; feet tucked underneath him, Yuuri watches Viktor narrowly. Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand, dips his fingers into the liquid foundation smeared on the back of it, and continues dabbing at Yuuri’s face. Viktor’s spent about ten minutes swatching every single foundation he owns on Yuuri’s forearm to find the perfect shade. Yuuri doesn’t mind. He likes being used as a paint-palette.

‘It’s an old and respectable technique,’ Viktor says. The words come out slowly. His thumb grazes the swell of Yuuri’s bottom lip; the pads of his fingers brush Yuuri’s cheekbone, lingering longer than strictly necessary. ‘Celebrity artists do it. Professionals.’

‘Do they do it to you?’

‘Sometimes they let me do it to myself.’ Viktor pulls back and examines Yuuri through his eyelashes. Apparently satisfied, he takes a makeup wipe from the packet Yuuri’s holding and cleans off his hands. ‘You don’t need concealer.’

‘Of course I need concealer,’ says Yuuri. ‘I’m not perfect. You are _biased_. Go on, what are you waiting for?’

Viktor hums, unconvinced, and picks up a slender brush at random. He blends foundation with his left hand and does everything else with his right; Yuuri finds himself holding Viktor’s free hand in his lap, stroking the inside of Viktor’s wrist. Viktor hasn’t shown surprise at much of anything since Yuuri pulled him into their bedroom, pointed to the open drawers and cabinets and said: _show me_. Most of the products look barely used. Some are unopened. _Gifts from sponsors_ , Viktor said.

Yuuri blinks at him drowsily as Viktor works on Yuuri’s dark circles with his tongue poking out between his teeth. He looks beautiful, concentrating. ‘Tell me about this brush.’

‘I think it’s actually an eyeshadow brush?’ says Viktor. ‘I used to keep them labelled.’

They rub off on each other more and more by the day. Sometimes Viktor presents perfectly ordinary statements as questions, lilting upwards on the last syllable just like Yuuri tends to do. Sometimes Yuuri ties his jacket around his waist. It’s nice.

Yuuri closes his eyes. He’s not sleepy, but Viktor’s touch is lulling: the delicate brushstrokes, the slight warmth of an exhale. Soon the fine point of Viktor’s not-actually-a-concealer-brush gives way to thicker, softer bristles, gentle as a kitten’s paw, and Yuuri almost dozes.

‘What are you doing now?’ he asks.

Viktor murmurs something so inaudible that Yuuri has to tap his thigh to make him repeat it. ‘Contour.’

Yuuri’s eyes snap open after the large kitten-brush leaves his face.

‘Why did you stop?’

Viktor huffs out a soft laugh. ‘I’ll add some more.’

Yuuri smiles. (’Yes,’ comes Viktor’s voice from somewhere close to him. ‘Smile like that. For the blush.’)

‘You can just keep your eyes closed,’ Viktor tells him some time afterwards, and then there’s the crack of Viktor prying open something brand-new. Yuuri opens his eyes anyway. Viktor’s inspecting a heavy eyeshadow palette, the colours velvety and pristine. Yuuri leans in to get a better look. Viktor pulls himself up into a more comfortable position, shifting his legs, resting his arm across one bent knee.

‘How many colours can you use?’ Yuuri asks.

‘Hmm,’ says Viktor. ‘I think… if I set out to do it, I can work up to seven?’

‘ _Put seven eyeshadows on me._ ’

‘I can.’ Viktor snatches up Yuuri’s hand and presses an unexpected kiss to the knuckles. ‘I don’t have to.’

‘I want them,’ Yuuri says. ‘Put them on me.’

‘Okay, Yuuri.’ Viktor’s head is lowered, but his shoulders shake suspiciously. ‘This might take a while.’

‘I believe in you.’ This time Yuuri definitely hears a snort. He closes his eyes again, though not before — ‘Isn’t that a concealer brush?’

‘Yuuri,’ Viktor says with exaggerated patience, ‘if I used an eyeshadow brush to put concealer on, obviously I have to use a concealer brush to put eyeshadow on. Who do you think I am, some kind of amateur?’

The eye makeup takes a while. Yuuri savours every minute of it.

‘Do you remember,’ Viktor begins. He pauses, lets the sentence hang unfinished, and then finishes it anyway: ‘In Hasetsu, at the rink, when I called you and Yurio stupid for thinking you could control your image?’

‘You didn’t exactly call us stupid,’ Yuuri replies. He feels Viktor not-quite-smile.

‘Trust me,’ mutters Viktor. He cleans up something near Yuuri’s browbone with the edge of a thumb. ‘I did.’ Yuuri opens one eye to squint at him, at the blurry, well-loved vision of Viktor-without-Yuuri’s-glasses, the familiar lines of nose and mouth and Viktor’s pale eyelashes. ‘Well, I lied. You can. Control your image. A little. If you try… if you work hard at it.’

Yuuri turns his cheek into Viktor’s palm.

‘Hold my elbow,’ Viktor says; he’s leaning in so close that Yuuri can taste the heat of his closeness. ‘I’m going to draw a wing. You have to keep my hand steady.’

‘You have the steadiest hands of anyone I’ve ever seen.’

Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand and places it on his elbow. Yuuri kisses the side of his mouth.

‘These names are so cute,’ Yuuri says later, turning over a handful of satiny lip pencils while Viktor paints various colours of lipstick across Yuuri’s other hand. ‘I like them. Lip Cheat. Iconic Nude.’

‘ _I’ll_ take all my clothes off and be your iconic nude,’ says Viktor. ‘Put that back. The shade doesn’t suit you. We’ll use this instead.’


	22. sex tropes meme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> watch me answer prompts for an entire sex meme without writing any serious porn

**1\. laughing during sex**

In a hotel room in Beijing in a too-small-by-half single bed, Viktor is concentrating very hard.

‘Enough,’ Yuuri says, languid, one bare foot idly stroking the small of Viktor’s back, ‘here, come here,’ and he pulls Viktor to him by the tie still hanging loose around the collar of Viktor’s wrecked shirt, ‘I like it like this.’

‘Mmm?’ says Viktor, as far as his mouth finds it possible to form words. He settles himself on top of Yuuri, where the space between them is cosy and warm. Between Yuuri’s knees is a safe place to be. ‘Okay. I.’ He tucks his face into the sweetness of Yuuri’s neck, tastes salt-damp skin, feels Yuuri sigh and arch underneath him. Yuuri is still holding on to his tie, keeping him close and secure, which does things to Viktor’s insides; he’s very, you know, Yuuri’s very overwhelming. ‘Like what?’

‘Actually,’ Yuuri says, gasping and straining to wrap his legs around Viktor’s waist as Viktor pushes in steady and careful, ‘I don’t? Usually. Like it in this position. I always, um, hands and knees, so I don’t have to let them see my face? But you know, with you, I don’t mind.’

Viktor opens his eyes. He didn’t realise they were closed to begin with. ‘I thought you said you were a virgin.’

‘I said “no comment”.’

‘ _What_ ,’ Viktor says.

‘It depends on your definition?’

Viktor sits up so fast that Yuuri yanks him back down by the end of his tie. ‘ _What_.’ (He lets himself be pulled; he’s fond of being directed by Yuuri, and Yuuri has just muttered something that sounds suspiciously like  _don’t pull out, I might cry_.) ‘Yuuri. Yuuri.’ He pats Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri turns his face into the pillow as though he thinks Viktor can’t see him smiling. ‘My love. Talk to me. What  _have_  you done?’

‘You were being so gentle,’ Yuuri murmurs. He kisses the tip of Viktor’s ear. ‘I didn’t want to spoil it for you.’

‘ _Tell me_ ,’ says Viktor, tugging out the vowels, cupping Yuuri’s face in his palm till Yuuri turns to look at him. Once their eyes meet Yuuri can’t keep a straight face any longer, which means Viktor can’t either, which is just not fair. Viktor wants to know. Viktor wants to hear  _stories_. ‘ _What have you done._ ’

Yuuri shushes him. ‘Let me come and I might tell you.’

* * *

**13\. anything involving the secretive brushing of fingertips against inner thighs in public spaces**

Back home in Hasetsu after the Cup of China, they can’t keep their hands off each other. Viktor kisses Yuuri once in the morning — on his way out of the shower — twice in the locker room at the rink, leaves Yuuri wrecked afterwards as Viktor brushes past him to get on with their day. 

They do get on with their day. Yuuri skates more surely than he can remember doing for months after last year’s GPF, buzzing, fervent; his body carries him through more and  _more_  than he thought it could, so high that he trembles to come down. Viktor eats rice candies from the convenience store near Hasetsu Ice Castle and lines up the wrappers on the edge of their shared bench. Then Yuuri takes him home and they fuck in Yuuri’s bed and in Viktor’s bed, Yuuri hauling Viktor close to him and refusing to let go, because Viktor’s been teasing him all day: hands on his waist and bright with the new ideas Viktor’s been spilling like gems, breath on Yuuri’s collarbone.

 _What are you making up for?_  Yuuri thinks to himself, and then:  _years_ , and he’s a little bit ashamed of that. He hasn’t been fantasising about — Viktor, okay, well, he  _has_ , but not in ways that might tempt him to think the fantasy could ever be real. That would be weird. That would be creepy. Yuuri’s always been good at understanding what he can’t have. But if someone’d sat Yuuri down and asked him to describe what he wanted, really, for himself, and if they’d somehow gotten Yuuri to answer honestly (unlikely), this would’ve been what he imagined.

They spend slightly less time in the hot springs than before. Slightly. (They don’t do anything untoward in the hot springs. The thought has never crossed Yuuri’s mind. He is a good Hasetsu boy.) Less time, you see, as Viktor keeps giving Yuuri that long sideways look as Yuuri runs his hands through his hair, the steam soaking his sore muscles. Or Viktor’s hand lingers in Yuuri’s lap at the table in the dining area, not trying anything but just resting with the backs of his curled fingers against Yuuri’s thigh, and Yuuri laughs at him. Yuuri says in English, low enough to be out of the customers’ hearing: ‘Okay, we’ll go to bed soon. I promise.’ 

Then he takes his time finishing up his dinner. Yuuri likes his mother’s cooking, that’s all. If he likes making Viktor beg, that’s just a happy bonus.

‘What are you making up for?’ Yuuri asks Viktor one morning, outside Minako’s ballet studio. Yuuri’s not expecting an answer; he’s just teasing, mostly. It’s a rhetorical question. They have a routine that melds itself to their bones. On Yuuri’s ballet days Viktor is off to wander around Hasetsu and speak charmingly accented Japanese to fishermen who are deeply charmed by him, and at the end of it he’ll come home to Yuuri.

‘Years,’ Viktor says.

They stand with their backs to the glass door of the studio and Yuuri’s thumbs hooked into the pockets of Viktor’s hoodie, and kiss for a long time.

* * *

**7\. “wow i did not know that was A Thing for me until right now and i’m totally fine with that but for the love of god keep doing it”**

Before Viktor, Yuuri hated hearing praise of himself on other people’s lips. There were a few loved ones he trusted and who were welcome to parts of him, and the rest of him was private, and the rest of the world could fuck off, for all Yuuri cared. Assumptions goaded him. Sympathy felt invasive.  _I know this week’s been hard for you_  left Yuuri biting his tongue to keep from snapping back:  _no, it hasn’t, I can handle myself, I’m twenty-three years old_. Encouragement made him clench his teeth looking for condescension which usually wasn’t there — usually. When he impressed people he knew they thought lowly enough of him to be surprised, and he felt ugly and ungrateful, shying away from acquaintances who dared to think they knew him.

He let himself be sweet-talked into bed and talked sweetly to in bed, just warm enough from liquor and adrenaline for the murmured praise to slide off without stinging. Most of the time Yuuri wasn’t really listening to what his partners were saying because Yuuri’s kind of an asshole on the inside, and college was a bad time,  _no one must ever know._  The people he slept with didn’t get real Yuuri, they got tipsy Yuuri who was actually attractive, so that was okay. He just had to escape in the mornings before his Yuuri-ness got too obvious.

(’Yuuri, your experiences are not universal,’ Phichit said, rooting around in his closet for a clean T-shirt.

‘Uh-huh,’ said Yuuri, resolutely closing Twitter and locking his phone before he got too deep into the Japanese comment threads about his Skate America performance. This also meant ignoring a string of hopeful texts from a number he didn’t recognise. Yuuri had blurry memories of somebody else’s floor sticking to his socks and a voice from the bed going,  _what’s the rush, baby_ , or  _where are you going, sweetheart_ , and he cringed hard and shoved them to the back of his mind.)

Now, though, Yuuri’s clothes have been kicked to the foot of the bed, and he’s pillowing his head on his arm with his eyes closed as he waits for his breathing to even out again, and Viktor’s saying something tender and sure behind him. It sounds like Russian (since Viktor stops controlling whatever comes out of his mouth at some point during sex and switches languages with fluent abandon), so Yuuri can’t understand the words. But he can catch the spirit of them. Excellent interpretative skills are par for the course for two figure skaters who communicate best through physical gestures. 

Yuuri rolls over, the sweat cooling on his skin, and cuddles up to Viktor. He catches his own name, which makes Yuuri go liquid and sweet inside. He recognises the coaxing, affectionate tone. It’s nice.

Yuuri suspects that Viktor talks and  _keeps on talking_  in situations like these to help Yuuri fall asleep faster. Viktor suspects that Yuuri enjoys the sound of Viktor’s voice so much he could listen to Viktor ramble on forever. They’re not going to confirm or deny either of these ideas out loud. It’s their first serious relationship. There’s a learning curve.

 _I have no idea what I’m doing_ , Yuuri thinks, and nudges Viktor gently with his foot. ‘Speak English.’

Viktor raises his head from where he’s been hiding his face in Yuuri’s shoulder. ‘Hmm?’

‘So I can understand.’

* * *

**5\. biting to stay quiet**

Afterwards, Viktor drags himself upright in bed to kiss the marks he’s left on Yuuri’s shoulders with nails and teeth, mouthing at new and old bites to lessen the sting, sated and sore. This is all new. He’s not used to being noisy during sex. He’s not used to  _not_  feeling drained afterwards; he feels so full. Yuuri lets Viktor wet the sweet scattering of bruises with his tongue, tolerant of this strangeness as Yuuri is of everything else.

‘Was that okay?’ asks Yuuri. Yuuri looks for reassurance sometimes, showing a level of trust which has to mean Viktor is special. He kisses Viktor on the lips: a long sweet motion that Viktor simply takes, too tired to do anything but soak into Yuuri. ‘Should we do it again?’

‘Yes,’ Viktor says, because it’s better to express want and  _need_  than leave choices to Yuuri with words like  _as many times as you like_. Whatever Yuuri’s mind can possibly interpret as halfhearted, it will. Viktor’s so drowsy he almost forgets to respond, but he forces his lips to form the answer anyway. ‘Please. More times.’

‘Okay,’ Yuuri says. When Viktor opens his eyes, Yuuri’s watching him with the fond, possessive expression that is Viktor’s favourite (Viktor has many favourites), dark eyelashes brushing his cheeks, as if looking at Viktor leaves him content. Viktor wonders what that’s like. He’s never felt anything looking at himself.

Yuuri curls around Viktor and puts first an arm, then a leg, over him to tuck him safely in place. Sometimes Yuuri acts as though he can read Viktor’s mind. Maybe he can. To Yuuri, Viktor is very easy to read. Viktor has an idea that most people he’s slept with would tell him he’s quite the opposite, not that anyone ever had the chance to do so.

Viktor nestles in, unashamed about it. There’s never any cause for shame with Yuuri. He rarely has the chance to be wrapped up in someone, let alone Yuuri. Viktor’s the taller and broader one, but Yuuri at his off-season weight is soft enough to hold on to. Viktor’s hand finds its way to Yuuri’s lovely, chubby thighs; he doesn’t pinch them, since he’s noticed that makes Yuuri feel uncomfortable about his own body. Instead, Viktor strokes the backs of his fingers against the chafing from stubble burn he’s left, gentle, and Yuuri sighs.

‘Pretty,’ Yuuri mumbles somewhere above Viktor’s head, having unwound and unravelled enough that he’s free about the thoughts he lets slip out. Yuuri isn’t satisfied with letting Viktor feast on him; Yuuri wants to kiss Viktor’s cheeks, call him pretty, rub lotion into his skin, a dozen other small tasks he’s learned from Viktor himself. Viktor’s working up to asking for those. He hasn’t really craved attention since he was in his late teens. Yuuri shows him new sides of himself every day.

* * *

**16\. sleepy morning kisses that accidentally turn intense**

The sofa doesn’t look comfortable. It is too stiff, and it can barely fit Makkachin and one human, let alone two humans, let alone two humans snuggling with each other and their dog, so Yuuri dislikes it on principle. The sky’s turning pink and dove-grey through the windows when Yuuri pads out of the bedroom, in Viktor’s fuzzy slippers, to find Viktor on the sofa.

Yuuri frowns at St. Petersburg and the world from the doorway of their living room.

‘It’s six in the morning.’

Over the mug of hot coffee he’s nursing, Viktor wrinkles his nose in apology. ‘Body clock.’

The coffee smells nice. Yuuri’s feet carry him across the room and onto Viktor, onto the sofa, nestling himself on top of Viktor instead of the cushions, which are less welcoming anyway. Viktor sets his mug carefully on the coffee table to avoid spilling any steaming liquid on Yuuri. Viktor’s long legs rearrange themselves around Yuuri; Yuuri settles himself into the curve of Viktor’s body, wrinkling Viktor’s grey T-shirt worn threadbare at the seams. He lifts Viktor’s left arm to make more room for himself and then, after a second’s thought, tucks himself underneath it. Yuuri picks up the coffee mug with both hands and takes a long sip.

‘Help yourself,’ says Viktor, low and amused. Yuuri reaches out and touches Viktor’s eyelashes with a fingertip. Viktor’s built his entire media image on being beautiful and untouchable, and now, sweatpants pooling around his ankles, feet curled like two small animals on the arm of the sofa, he looks so very, very inviting. He has crust in his eyelashes. Yuuri loves him.

‘Awake yet?’ Viktor asks. His hand creeps up the back of Yuuri’s shirt, the stretched-out hem just long enough to cover the tops of Yuuri’s bare thighs.

‘No.’ Yuuri puts down the mug and closes the distance between their mouths, to chase the lingering bitterness of coffee on Viktor’s tongue. His palms are on either side of Viktor’s face, and he can touch the soft creases underneath Viktor’s eyes. Viktor’s thumb traces the bruises he sucked into Yuuri’s neck last night, presses a little too hard into tender skin, and Yuuri flinches and bites at Viktor’s mouth.

Yuuri pulls away only after they run out of air. Even then, it’s difficult; Viktor nearly doesn’t let him. Yuuri touches the pad of his index finger to his own tongue, runs it over the soft seam of Viktor’s lips, and Viktor closes his eyes.

‘You left the bed cold,’ Yuuri accuses.

Viktor blinks, dazed. ‘Sorry.’

‘Make it up to me.’

* * *

**6\. one person meticulously doing something entirely for the other’s benefit without expectation or need of reciprocation**

‘I didn’t even know what cuticles were until I Googled them,’ Yuuri hisses. He dips the tiny brush into the bottle once more and, with his other hand, reaches out to tilt his laptop so Phichit can get a better view of Yuuri’s feet from the webcam. ‘How am I supposed to know what I’m doing? This is terrible. It looks terrible.’

‘Shhh. You’re doing fine, baby,’ says Phichit. ‘Just four more toes to go. You’re almost there.’

‘I tried this on my hands first,’ Yuuri mutters, sloshing nail polish remover onto a cotton pad. ‘But they looked so awful I wiped all the polish off. At least I can do both feet with my right hand.’ He bites his lip in concentration as he cleans away a smear of nail polish on the side of his big toe. He’s seated on the hall floor with the laptop near his ankles, two wikiHow tutorials open in separate tabs on his phone, a nail file lost somewhere among the sofa cushions and tubes of cuticle cream scattered around him. Yuuri has never felt less sexy than in this moment. ‘What if he doesn’t like it?’

‘Why wouldn’t he like it?’ asks Phichit, entirely reasonable. ‘You have nice feet.’

‘Don’t see what’s special about them. They’re just feet.’ Yuuri wiggles his toes cautiously. There is nothing appealing to Yuuri about his cracked skin and blisters, his bare calves, glossy toenails drying slowly in the chill of the room; then again, there’s usually nothing Yuuri finds appealing about himself. ‘Maybe it’s weird to text him “do you wanna come home and fuck my feet” out of nowhere. He hasn’t even replied! But he’s at practice —’

‘You texted him  _that_  in the middle of practice with no preliminaries?’

‘Should I not have?’

Phichit removes one of the hamsters from his head and kisses it to hide his smile. ‘Don’t worry, Yuuri. You’re fine.’

Yuuri leans back on the heels of his hands and studies his toenails from a distance, resting his head against the arm of the sofa. ‘I thought… I just thought he might be embarrassed that I know about his foot thing.’

‘Yuuri. Everybody knows about Viktor’s foot thing,’ Phichit says. Yuuri raises his head and looks directly into the webcam. ‘Okay, fine, Chris told me, but still. We’re figure skaters. I’m surprised  _you_  don’t have a foot thing!’

Yuuri considers this for a second or two. ‘I think I just have a Viktor thing.’

‘Wow, really, Yuuri,’ says Phichit fondly, ‘I never would’ve guessed.’

* * *

**8\. someone straddling the other while they’re “trying to read” and slowly getting them to put the book away**

If somebody told Yuuri he was good at reading Viktor, he would look at them strangely. He’s not. Yuuri doesn’t  _read_  people. Anything he stumbles upon (his nerve-ridden, neurotic, tear-stained self) that turns out somehow to be  _right_  is discovered by accident. Intuition. It only works when Yuuri isn’t thinking about it: the dull pulse of pleasant, white-noise awareness, unerring yet imprecise. He is as comfortable with Viktor as the inside of an old jacket. 

Halfway into their third month in St. Petersburg, the wind grows cold enough to chip at Yuuri’s cheeks on his morning runs, and Viktor gets that look that’s dry and unsettled around the corners of his eyes, the one which says he needs to be petted and soothed. Yuuri fucks him against the kitchen counter till Viktor goes pliant underneath him, makes tea with chilly fingers afterwards and settles them both in bed. He wakes up the next morning and the look’s still there.

Yuuri waits until after practice. They go straight from the shower to dinner to bed, too tired to think; Viktor eats quietly, efficiently, spoon scraping the bottom of the takeaway container. Yuuri’s insides are thick and calm in the way he feels after a good day’s practice, jumps landed cleanly, line drills stretching and thinning him out, wearing away the excess fat. Viktor might like his belly, but Yuuri doesn’t. Viktor says he should reward himself with katsudon for his medals. Yuuri thinks he should work off the katsudon by striving towards another gold medal. They’re allowed to see things differently.

He curls up in bed beside Viktor. Makkachin’s dozing in the hall outside with his head on his paws, ears pricking every now and then for the footsteps of imaginary intruders. Yuuri feels safe. Viktor has his knees tucked under the heavy coverlet and a book in his lap, sitting with his back against the headboard, and Yuuri cranes his neck sleepily to see the title.

‘So smart,’ he murmurs, only half-aware of what he’s saying, patting Viktor’s leg through the bedspread. Viktor catches Yuuri’s hand and holds it.

‘Hmm?’

‘Reading books in French. You’re so smart.’

‘I’m not,’ says Viktor, who thinks he’s dumb because he never went to college. That is an outrage and Yuuri will fix it. ‘I’m on chapter eight. It’s taken me a year.’

Yuuri wriggles closer to Viktor. The pillow is cool against his cheek. ‘Read it out loud to me.’

‘Do you speak French?’ Viktor asks, blinking as though he needs to adjust his world view. Yuuri loves how Viktor asks this like it’s a genuine question, as if foreign languages, skateboarding and fixing broken appliances are just a few of Yuuri’s many talents. A bottomless bag of obscure skills to keep surprising Viktor all the way up till their wedding day.

Yuuri shakes his head, although he’s buried under the covers and Viktor can’t see it. ‘I just like your voice.’ He nestles further into the space between their bodies till he can put his nose against Viktor’s waist. Yuuri nudges up the hem of Viktor’s shirt.

Viktor reads in a soft monotone, pausing only when Yuuri nuzzles his way into getting his head under Viktor’s shirt entirely. ‘Hello.’

‘Hello yourself.’ Yuuri blows lightly on Viktor’s skin and breathes in the warmth coming off it. ‘You smell nice.’

‘ _Oh_ ,’ Viktor says, that consummate playboy. Yuuri kisses his belly button.

Viktor rests the spine of the book on Yuuri’s head. Yuuri sighs. ‘Move over, sweetheart,’ he tells Viktor, and at the sound of the endearment Viktor makes a small, delicate sound. Yuuri shifts and squirms ungracefully until he’s settled comfortably between Viktor’s thighs, and Viktor shifts too, bending his knees more to make room for Yuuri. Viktor never questions Yuuri’s moods when he’s like this, just wets his lower lip with his tongue and lets Yuuri do whatever he wants.

Yuuri splays his fingers over Viktor’s hip, palm on hot skin. ‘Keep going.’

Viktor picks up in the middle of a sentence, or at least that’s what it sounds like. Yuuri can’t understand the words, and anyway, he isn’t paying attention; he props himself up on his elbows, raises his head a little, stretching and pulling at the thin fabric of Viktor’s shirt to make… a point, though what point, Yuuri isn’t sure. He explores the bruising from falls and weeks of practice with his fingertips, pressing with care on one place where the bruise is yellow and tender.

‘Painful?’

‘No,’ Viktor says, and then gasps when Yuuri puts his mouth over the spot and sucks.

‘Shhh.’ Yuuri lifts away, savouring the noise of protest he gets, and then leans in again to soothe the bruise with his tongue. He tugs down Viktor’s waistband to get at Viktor’s cock, which is so pretty and perfect that Yuuri accepts this as proof the universe is  _unfair_. ‘You don’t have to put your book down.’

Viktor puts his book down.

* * *

**4\. kissing to stay quiet**

Viktor takes all of seven minutes to realise why Yuuri keeps insistently pulling Viktor’s face down to his own, biting and gasping into him till Viktor’s mouth is rain-soft and tender. He’s not usually so slow about figuring out people’s wants. Yuuri does things to Viktor’s brain. ‘Yuuri,’ Viktor says now, hoarse, breaking away with difficulty to mouth at Yuuri’s neck instead, ‘don’t, come on, I want to hear you.’

Deprived of kisses for the time being, Yuuri wraps his legs ( _thighs_ , strong thighs) more tightly around Viktor’s waist in a vise-grip to keep Viktor where Yuuri wants him. Less contact in one place leaves Yuuri demanding more contact everywhere else, like the world’s loveliest pair of balancing scales. This is what Viktor’s discovered about him. Yuuri is very fair. 

Yuuri tips his head back, damp hair sticking to his temples. He’s audibly struggling to stay quiet, and Viktor can hear the moan bubbling at the back of his throat as Yuuri speaks through clenched teeth: ‘Yakov has the room next door to us.’

‘Oh.’ Viktor catches hold of the headboard to steady himself. ‘You’re not… ah, you’re not scared of Yakov, are you?’

‘Vitya.’ Yuuri’s nails dig into Viktor’s shoulders. He takes a shallow, careful breath. ‘I am terrified of Coach Yakov.’

Viktor tries not to laugh. He doesn’t try very hard. He’s not laughing  _at_  Yuuri, see, it’s more of… the feeling this gives them both. A shared guilty, giggling secrecy, like children sneaking into a candy shop. He’s never gotten to feel like this before.

Viktor drops forward and rests his forehead against Yuuri’s. Their noses bump, then slot alongside each other as they align their heads almost on reflex, eyes fluttering closed, with the ease of long familiarity. Yuuri’s eyelashes brush Viktor’s own. Viktor kisses Yuuri’s temple, tasting the salt and sweetness of sweat.

‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘Yakov has heard worse.’

Yuuri whines.

The noise is delicious and Viktor wants nothing more than to pin Yuuri’s wrists to the headboard and slam into him and hear it  _again_ , and  _better_ , but he doesn’t want anything Yuuri doesn’t want. Instead, he sits up and sighs. He doesn’t sigh too loudly, though, in case that makes Yuuri feel guilty. Viktor really wants to come.

Viktor would do a lot of things for Yuuri, short of murder. Possibly also murder. There are various scenarios Viktor can envision in which murder might be an option. None of them are scenarios he wants to envision while balls-deep in Yuuri. Viktor is willing to  _pull out_  so they can relocate to a part of their suite with slightly thicker walls, and only complain a little bit, and only in the sweet way that makes Yuuri’s eyes go dark and focussed.

Viktor lowers himself again by his elbows and brushes his lips against Yuuri’s ear. Yuuri’s eyes are wet at the corners, and Viktor resists the impulse to chase that wetness with his tongue. He resists the impulse to knock on the wall dividing them and Yakov:  _hello, yes, I am here, and being considerate_. ‘How do you feel about bathroom sex?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the answer is no, yuuri hates shower sex, it’s slippery and overrated and gross, but thank you for the offer, viktor)


	23. college au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in any kind of school/college au yuuri is a Premium Jock and viktor reads MANY BOOKS AND WEARS GLASSES SOMETIMES good night thank you for listening where’s my tropey 3,000-word fic where yuuri gets tutored by viktor and holds his hand under the table of their shitty campus diner with papers spread over the table while viktor eats an Entire ballpoint pen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T MAKE ME WRITE IT MYSELF

look. look!! they walk into each other and drop everything they’re carrying (yuuri did not bump into viktor that hard but he dropped his stuff anyway out of sheer shock & awe at viktor’s beauty)!!! yuuri flushes bright red and picks up viktor’s books and looks up and their eyes meet and both of them do a double take!! except yuuri isn’t wearing his glasses (which is why they bumped into each other obviously) and viktor IS so will they ever recognise each other again??

yes. yes they do. they make out at a party until viktor realises Beautiful Student Athlete Katsuki Yuuri is drunker than he is and gently detaches himself from BEAUTIFUL STUDENT ATHLETE KATSUKI YUURI, WHO IS KISSING ME and sets  _ **BEAUTIFUL STUDENT ATHLETE KATSUKI YUURI, WHOM I WOULD DIE FOR**_  back on his feet. yuuri wakes up the next morning with ‘call me? ❤❤❤ vitya’ and a phone number scrawled on the back of his hand and a killer hangover and accidentally washes the ink off in the shower. who the fuck is vitya

(Beautiful Physics Student Viktor Nikiforov continues to be beautiful in yuuri’s vicinity, and yuuri sighs a little more sadly every time he stares at the back of BEAUTIFUL PHYSICS STUDENT VIKTOR NIKIFOROV’s head in class, and chews on his pencil and watches  _ **BEAUTIFUL PHYSICS STUDENT VIKTOR NIKIFOROV**_ ’s long legs cross and recross as viktor exhales in apparent boredom. viktor is So Smart, and So Handsome, and never wears ratty ramen-crusted hoodies or goes running through the college town in pajama pants to work off anxiety. even when he’s wearing the ‘i’m done with everything’ expression everybody gets near the end of the semester and holding a mug of fermenting coffee, viktor manages to make his FUCK THIS FUCK YOU I’M BEAUTIFUL AND I DESERVE BETTER whip-off-glasses-slam-head-on-table motion look glamorous & scornful. (viktor is cursing in russian but yuuri still thinks he sounds beautiful) viktor Has His Life Together. yuuri goes off and does a bunch of push-ups to deal with his feelings, and everyone at the campus gym finds themselves instantly consumed by desire)

‘seduce him with physics puns,’ phichit suggests. ‘here’s a list.’

‘I CAN’T IMPRESS VIKTOR NIKIFOROV WITH PHYSICS PUNS,’ says yuuri. ‘HE IS A PHYSICS MAJOR.’

(PLEASE NOTICE ME, viktor projects at the top of his head-voice as Beautiful Student Athlete Katsuki Yuuri walks by)


	24. eros and psyche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i guess y'all know the story](http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/cupid.html)

> It’s no use
> 
>  
> 
> Mother dear, I
> 
> can’t finish my
> 
> weaving
> 
>             You may
> 
> blame Aphrodite
> 
>  
> 
> soft as she is
> 
>  
> 
> she has almost
> 
> killed me with
> 
> love for that boy
> 
>  

_—Sappho, trans. Mary Barnard_

* * *

listen, yuuri as eros/cupid perfectly fits running away before sunrise because of shyness/plot reasons/an overwhelming & irrational SENSE OF INFERIORITY next to his mortal husband’s devastating beauty, while viktor is like ‘no one with a voice as nice as yours could  _not_  be beautiful???’ viktor is absolutely the person hailed as ‘most beautiful human in the world’ who feels empty and unloved. and along comes yuuri, already set out to love him as an ideal, and he accidentally falls in love with the real thing. minako has the role of venus in this version — of course she’s less petty and cruel than venus (bc greek gods are petty assholes), but she is severe and fiercely protective of yuuri and side-eyes viktor hard. viktor’s sure FREE WITH HIS CHARMS

  * (yuuri has admired viktor from afar since forever, and it interferes with his duties as minako’s messenger)
  * the katsukis are zephyr, the winds that shepherd anyone to and from yuuri’s mountain/palace/thing, and who’ve looked after him ever since he was a little boy-godling growing up under minako’s protection 



viktor would also be legitimately mad about not being allowed to see yuuri’s face (which i have always felt was justified in the original myth!!), and there’s some angry begging, and the first night he prob cries himself to sleep bc he came all this way to find what felt like nothing. but they slowly find their way around each other

then yurio (yurio is psyche’s younger sibling in this except with less PETTY ENVY AND BRUTAL DEATH, obviously) shows up, confused as to why viktor has Up and Left. there’s viktor in this beautiful palace with his much younger brother yurio, slowly letting a little fear & doubt & vulnerability slip through as he admits he doesn’t actually know what yuuri looks like

  * but he has a beautiful voice??? viktor loves him??? he makes viktor feel unlonely
  * like a warmth he can’t describe, just by feeling understood
  * and viktor trusts the sound of his voice
  * (yuuri of course is FULL OF ANXIETY THROUGHOUT ALL THIS)
  * yurio telling viktor he should get a look at yuuri asleep & unglamoured is the result of yurio’s protective viktor-instincts kicking in



the betrayal of trust in the form of viktor waking up yuuri by accidentally dripping hot wax from the candle on yuuri when he’s trying to see yuuri’s face = parallel to the carpark scene in ep 7 

  * ‘just have more faith in me than i do’ - yuuri
  * katsuki ‘eros?? the god of love??? I’M NOT CUT OUT FOR THIS’ yuuri who doesn’t think he’s capable of loving anyone for real
    * (YOU WILL FIND OUT WHY)



anyway viktor goes to minako searching for yuuri, and implacable ferociously loving minako sets him trials to Prove Himself

  * minako, standing on her doorstep with her hands on her hips: ‘i won’t have you hurting that boy. he’s been alone all his life’
    * ‘so have i,’ viktor cries out
  * the first task in the original myth is psyche having to sort grain, and the little animals/insects take pity on her and help her. so the equivalent would be viktor being tasked to do something deemed impossible, and with the help of yuuri’s friends/family he 1) learns more about yuuri 2) gains love, like, MEANINGFUL HUMAN CONNECTIONS
    * why is chronic loneliness a theme in every viktuuri au, I DON’T KNOW
  * the Haircut happens at some point during these trials. i’m very into the concept of him originally being required to give up his beauty but viktor pleads not to
    * ‘please, it’s all i have’
    * and the god/monster-of-the-week (yakov) has a twinge of compassion and brings the sacrifice down to something smaller, like just his hair
  * the final and most crucial task is his descent to the underworld, to retrieve a box of Something Mysterious from lilia. viktor has to charm his way past the fearsome elemental hellhound cerberus, who (upon being coaxed) immediately takes the form of MAKKACHIN and SPRINGS INTO VIKTOR’S ARMS AND IS WITH HIM FOR THE REST OF HIS JOURNEY
    * spoiler: the box contains yuuri’s heart
    * and is guarded by the spirit of vicchan
    * who died
    * causing yuuri to crash & burn emotionally
    * AND NOT WANT TO REACH OUT TO ANY HUMAN OR MORTAL THING EVER AGAIN
    * YUURI’S HEART IS IN THE BOX BECAUSE VICCHAN DIED AND TOOK IT WITH HIM
    * anyway!
  * the climax is psyche opening The Box That She Wasn’t Supposed to Open and being struck with sleep so eros has to rescue her, and in the story the box contains beauty, which has never made sense to me — why would she let her curiosity get the better of her when she’s already beautiful? and viktor doesn’t strike me particularly as the type to open things he was told not to open. so it’s more like a mix of the orpheus/eurydice myth, where he  _has_  to open it to be sure that the box really holds what it purports to hold, and also because it’s  _yuuri’s heart_ , viktor has to take care of it
    * viktor having to literally bring a heart back to minako, and feeling it start to beat so he opens the box to reassure himself that it’s beating for him



and their reunion is the ep 9 airport scene all over again. i'm very invested in this story!! viktor crashing through yuuri's self-imposed solitude, yuuri keeping himself apart from mortals to handle his anxiety and make his job a little bit easier, viktor's self-esteem being kind of garbage after being valued for his looks alone all his life! minako sending yuuri off to make viktor, The Most Beautiful Human Alive, fall in love with somebody else so yuuri will FOCUS ON HIS JOB, except yuuri ends up dancing with viktor at a banquet and pricking himself with his own arrow by accident, and yuuri is like [deep breath] is there anything i won't fuck up????

most of all i am into how this reverses the canon dynamic, with viktor being, hmm. at yuuri's mercy? there's got to be a better way to put that. yuuri knows more than him, and yuuri won't even let viktor SEE HIM, and viktor has to ask what yuuri wants viktor to be to him (and the answer's the same as in canon. it's always the same). viktor deserves to conquer all the trials of gods and men and at the end of his search, having found out more about himself and about yuuri, have yuuri come back to him. he snuggles with yuuri like a pair of sweet ducklings while yuuri goes, 'so... you went to the underworld... and brought back cerberus... and adopted him? just like that?'

makkachin, lying on the bed across both their pairs of legs, vibrates gently.

viktor's like: 'oh, right. yes.'

'so what did you name him,' says yuuri, son of aphrodite, god of **_[viktor voice] pleasure upon pleasure_** , slightly overwhelmed and anxiety-ridden boy in love now living in confused harmony with his husband and their dog.

'makkachin,' viktor says.

('i like it,' yuuri says, winding his fingers into viktor's short hair as viktor turns his cheek into yuuri's palm, closes his eyes. 'i've always liked it.')

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someday if i ever have the energy i might write this for real


	25. more ficbits

**Anonymous asked: I love the idea of viktor being a terrible skater on rented skates and yuuri doing fine because he grew up next to the ice castle and money was tight so he had to learn on rented skates a lot. So on a skate date when neither have their own skates with them it has a lot of viktor clinging too yuuri and lost of giggles and wet sore butts from falling**

i guess you’re referring to [this](http://kevystel.tumblr.com/post/164966755240/ponylords-i-just-wanna-see-them-go-on-one-1) post!

anyway viktor ‘i had no life outside skating for the past 20 years’ nikiforov sort of squints when yuuri suggests the skate date, because you want to spend even  _more_  time on the ice, yuuri, really? but yuuri insists — gently, not forcing him — tells him, ‘it’s different, trust me.’ and yuuri went along willingly when viktor wanted to go to a dozen hasetsu festivals that must seem over-familiar and banal to yuuri. so they go, and they wrap up warm and yuuri gets them steaming cups of coffee/hot chocolate to carry with them, and viktor lights up a little bit on the inside when he sees yuuri looking all tucked up and cosy with his scarf & mittens.

the rented skates are terrible! viktor bites his lip, and yuuri says as much outright, gleeful, as he straps them on: ‘aren’t they terrible?’ yes, gloriously so. viktor, who’s been skating on golden blades as long as he can remember, can hardly walk. yuuri puts his hand into the crook of viktor’s elbow and says: ‘don’t fall. i won’t catch you.’

‘you will,’ replies viktor, comfortable in this rare certainty.

yuuri smiles. ‘maybe.’

the funniest & best part is that the public rink is so crowded with average families (tiny bundled-up children, newlyweds, teetering elderly couples with their wrinkles and kind eyes) that they’re not exactly surrounded by figure skating fans. they get glances of recognition, of course, since viktor’s viktor. but those are rarer than expected. viktor trips and stumbles for the first time in forever, falls on his ass and sits there laughing while yuuri extends a hand to help him up. blunt blades, a packed rink (you can’t imagine this place ever being emptied for the Professionals’ exclusive use), ice that hasn’t been vigorously scrubbed and smoothed to perfection: it’s perfect. yuuri’s cheeks are flushed pink above his scarf, and he pulls off one of his gloves so he can feel viktor’s fingers cold and numb entwined with his own. once they both get the hang of things the temptation to show off, to do something fancy, expose themselves with their olympics-winning skill, is nearly overwhelming. but viktor forgets — they’re going so fast, gliding through the throng with clean, strong, confident motions, and holding on to each other so tight, that he doesn’t really have room to think about anything else (because fast by this public ice rink’s standards is not fast by viktor-and-yuuri-and-yurio’s other standards!! he’s stopped thinking like a professional figure skater long ago). viktor never wants to leave

* * *

**Anonymous asked: scenario: Yuuri, Yurio and Mila are about to go out shopping while Viktor stays back to practice. Yuuri asks Viktor for some extra cash. Delighted, Viktor opens his wallet and hands Yuuri some. Yuuri looks at the money for all of 2 seconds before promplty taking Viktor's wallet from his other hand and leaving. Viktor falls even more in love with his fiance.**

**Anonymous asked: scenario 2: Yuuri comes home after a day of shopping using Viktor's money. Yuuri announces that he "accidentally" spent upwards of 300 dollars. Viktor tackles Yuuri.**

these are very very good thank you anon for sending them

one of the few things better than viktor at home among the russian skaters (olympics jacket matching the rest, posing for pictures, looking like the world’s best & worst #squadgoals instagram group shot simultaneously) is yuuri at home with them!!! yuuri going shopping with his skater friends and viktor waving them off, comfortable, contented, knowing he’ll always be their family. imagine the half-smile yuuri throws over his shoulder as he leaves with viktor’s wallet, just shy of a wink. yuuri comes back with a cashmere sweater to match viktor’s, a new pair of fuzzy slippers, and a bottle of viktor’s favourite wine (since when did yuuri know anything about wines??) and blows viktor on the sofa that night, painted nails biting into viktor’s hips, toes curling into the carpet.

yuuri grew up sensing that money was tight as long as he can remember being old enough to tell the difference, esp in a dying tourist town with his parents running an inn stocked with old men drinking sake to pass the evenings in front of the tv. viktor lets him do whatever, doesn’t force things on him, and yuuri can see viktor blinking and biting back his instinctive response to yuuri’s discount shower gel. but yuuri loves soft beds and silky pillows, thick and feather-stuffed, thread counts he can’t even comprehend, fine lingerie and warm colognes that make him press his tongue against his teeth. and yuuri realises that viktor spoils himself by spoiling yuuri so he encourages it, urging little material wants on viktor and feeling satisfied when viktor wets his bottom lip and viktor’s eyes sparkle, knowing he’s treasured & loved

* * *

**Anonymous  asked: At some point post-canon, Yuuri definitely guest-hosts a radio show because he has a super soft, calming voice and viktor listens to it even though he has no idea what yuuri is saying. And i'm not saying viktor jerked off to it as well, but he definitely did. (i'm sorry)**

Yuuri comes home to the sound of his own voice. Makkachin doesn’t greet him at the door, which means Viktor must be asleep; he picks his way carefully past the shapes of furniture, groping over to the light switch in the hall. He’s tired from his journey. 

The bedroom door stands ajar. Yuuri leaves his overnight bag on the hallway table and pushes his way in, careful not to wake Viktor. The curtains are drawn, and through the windowpane, St. Petersburg drowses pitch-black. He can hear Japanese. Phone, or radio? It’s the snippet of a Tokyo radio show Yuuri was asked to appear on once, or twice, or half a dozen times. To this day, Yuuri still has no idea why. Who would want to listen to him talk?

Despite his best efforts Yuuri’s not very good at being noiseless in the dark. Makkachin stirs, which means Viktor stirs too. So Yuuri switches on the bedside lamp.

‘Good morning,’ says Viktor immediately, rolling over. He wakes up very fast, or perhaps he hasn’t been asleep at all. ‘Is it morning?’

‘Yeah,’ Yuuri says. His glasses are sticky from the train ride. ‘About three.’

Viktor rolls onto his other side and pulls the pillow over his head. His hair sticks up, silky-fine and dishevelled. Makkachin follows Yuuri into the bathroom, and waits patiently as Yuuri strips off and sets the shower running.

The water runs hot first, and then cold. Yuuri’s shivering even though the bathroom floor is heated, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other like a skittish cat while he gets dressed after his shower. Viktor always laughs at him for that. Hasetsu boy.

The radio show’s still playing. Yuuri winces every time his Hasetsu accent slips through, he sounds so  _provincial_ , but at least he’s speaking very quietly. At least Viktor doesn’t know the difference, and wouldn’t care if he did. Yuuri crawls into bed and switches the radio off.

Beneath the pillow, Viktor opens one eye. ‘Who am I?’

‘You’re  _mine_ ,’ says Yuuri, who is used to half-awake Viktor asking vague questions in the middle of the night. Viktor has to carry him bodily to the bathroom at four-thirty a.m. some mornings, so it evens out. He tucks his legs underneath the blanket. ‘My Vitya,’ he adds, clarifying, but Viktor’s already asleep.


	26. boyfriend buys my outfits tag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: i am but a humble peasant and i only ask for this: a non-exhaustive list summary of Yuuri and Viktor doing the "Boyfriend buys my outfits" tag on YouTube. please? it would sustain me for years to come. bless you, miss.

  * the obvious setup for this is phichit featuring yuuri and viktor on his youtube channel, but i’m not a big fan of using phichit for every social media thing ever tbh. i feel like phichit comes from a showbiz family (thanks cafecliche for this hc!!) and just happens to be the biggest celebrity among his family in thailand, and so, yknow, he’s Very Busy. yuuri and viktor are the surprise romance sideplot in the golden boy adventure of phichit’s life. phichit does not have time to get involved in every fun highlight of the viktuuri romance!! so what i’m saying is, it is probably a pr video by, like, vogue, or get the gloss, or (god forbid) buzzfeed. reaching out to a huge online audience by doing What the Kids Like These Days. and as you know, viktor was made for pr ventures
  * it is very official. it is very wholesome, and filmed in high definition. viktor sternly promises himself not to kiss yuuri on camera until the halfway mark. he almost succeeds.
  * yuuri’s the one doing the shopping because he doesn’t trust viktor not to spend 30,000 euros if given free rein
    * like, no judgment. not from yuuri. you do you, viktor. but like, only when it’s absolutely necessary
  * therefore yuuri shopping becomes an exercise in proving how some pieces of clothing can be fucking ugly until viktor nikiforov decides they’re high fashion
    * [case in point](http://theexitgarden.tumblr.com/post/166539552002)
  * HO BUT MAKE IT FASHION!!! is viktor’s life tbh
  * ‘you know me so well,’ says viktor, preening in front of the mirror in a faux-fur short cape and some byzantine medieval-print polyester pants. it should be tacky. it is not tacky.
    * yes, yuuri says (yuuri has his fist in front of his mouth for most of the video trying not to laugh). yuuri does
  * ‘why didn’t you get the gloves to go with these?’ ‘because i want to show off your ring’ [viktor looks directly into the camera]
  * do we have to return these, viktor says to the cameraman. he delicately plucks off gigantic clip-on sixties-style polymer earrings and lays them on the table. why doesn’t viktor have pierced ears??? yuuri. yuuri!!! we need to fix this
    * ‘you want to keep these outfits?’ yuuri asks. yuuri has not been surprised by anything in this video. yuuri has been expecting this
    * viktor might make a strangled noise of assent. he most certainly does not make a strangled whimper. he’s going to wear them jogging
  * HOW DID YOU KNOW I WANTED A PINK BATHROBE WITH SILK TIES AND FUZZY LINING, viktor cries. i don’t know, says yuuri. you have three?
  * WHAT KIND OF GOALS!!!!
  * (the 30-second role-reversal coda after the end credits is just yuuri trying on viktor’s old costumes while visibly devastating viktor with how he can fit into the things viktor was wearing when he was a teenager)
    * ‘i don’t know,’ says yuuri, balancing with the sole of one foot flat against his leg like a flamingo. ‘it’s not really my style? vitya, are you okay?’
    * ‘i’m fine,’ viktor says, his head in his hands.




	27. viktor's birthday + touch prompts

today is viktor’s birthday. he wakes up five minutes before his alarm like he always does (an early-morning habit viktor can’t seem to break), with yuuri’s nose smushed into his shoulder and yuuri’s arms wrapped around his waist from behind. yuuri wakes up slowly, lies there for a couple of moments soaking in the body heat that’s built up in their nest of blankets during the night and the scent of his fiancé’s hair, then nestles in closer to viktor and says, ‘happy birthday, vitya.’ he kisses the nape of viktor’s neck and viktor rolls over and nuzzles into yuuri’s shoulder. then they get up. yuuri makes viktor tea just the way he likes it. makkachin gets underfoot while they’re getting ready and follows them to the door, and yuuri holds the door open with all their sports gear while viktor says goodbye to makkachin. they go to practice. yuuri holds viktor’s hand tightly all the way to the rink and strokes the inside of viktor’s wrist with one gloved finger. for years viktor’s only birthday gift to himself has been a gold medal at russian nationals. at the rink, yurio jogs viktor’s elbow and tells him to watch out because he’s getting old, and mila whips out her phone and shows them the screenshots of yurio livetweeting his very angry time trying, and failing, to shop for a present for viktor because, and i quote, ‘that asshole already has everything he ever wanted’. they’re happy. viktor is happy

* * *

_**5\. piggy back rides** _

Viktor is as contented as he’s ever been in his life. This may be an exaggeration, but only because Yuuri sends him to new heights of happiness regularly. That’s Yuuri, as far as Viktor is concerned. Smashing records every day and he doesn’t even know it. Viktor can smell the minty forest scent of Yuuri’s hair, that cheap store-brand shower gel which appalled Viktor at first but has quickly become Viktor’s favourite scent in the world. 

He nestles his cheek against Yuuri’s shoulder.

‘Careful,’ says Yuuri, and there’s the hint of a laugh in his voice. He slides his hands underneath Viktor’s knees and pulls, adjusting his grip so that Viktor’s hold on Yuuri is more secure. Viktor, ever helpful, wraps his legs around Yuuri’s waist. ‘You’ll slip down.’

‘And then you’ll pick me up again?’ Viktor asks. His tone is light. It’s not a very important question, after all. He wouldn’t mind if Yuuri said no.

‘Of course,’ Yuuri says without missing a beat, in the flat tone which means his lips are pursed and his eyebrows raised, mock-wry and lovely. ‘You’re my coach. I’m honour-bound to take care of you.’

‘ _I_  took care of you,’ Viktor protests. Yuuri pauses in his rocking, ship-swinging gait (he carries Viktor’s weight easily, hardly out of breath) and hoists Viktor a little further up on his back. ‘You tripped, and I caught you. That’s how I twisted my ankle.’

This time Viktor can feel Yuuri’s smile working its way around the corners of his mouth even before Yuuri turns his head. ‘My hero.’

* * *

_**12\. leaning on a shoulder** _

‘Chris is in Greece with his boyfriend,’ says Yurio, his voice distinctly unimpressed. ‘Look.’ Hanging over the back of the seat in front of Yuuri and Viktor, he flips his phone around to show them the screen. Yuuri bites his lip to hide a smile. Viktor sleepily flashes a thumbs-up. 

‘Yurochka, sit down, the coach is about to move,’ Lilia says from across the aisle.

‘I’m fine.’ Yurio scrolls further down. ‘Happy New Year, motherfuckers. Ugh. Hey, look, it’s… never mind. Look. Mila posted a selfie.’ He double-taps the screen with a bit more aggression than strictly necessary. ‘You should go and like it, too.’

‘Okay,’ Viktor murmurs, face smushed into Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri tugs Viktor closer to him and presses a kiss to the crown of Viktor’s head when he thinks Yurio isn’t looking. Unfortunately, Yurio is, and his contempt only deepens.

‘Your friend Chulanont hasn’t followed me back.’

‘Oh.’ Yuuri bites his tongue. From somewhere in the vicinity of Yuuri’s collarbone, Viktor makes a drowsy, sympathetic noise. ‘He probably just lost you in the flood of notifications. Are you following Yuri’s Angels?’ 

‘What? No, ew, why would I?’ Yurio glances up just in time to catch Yuuri resting his cheek on Viktor’s head with his eyes closed, and briefly raises his eyes to the ceiling. Viktor yawns. ‘Practice videos, why do people keep posting practice videos? Oh, this one’s not bad.’

‘Who?’ Yuuri combs his fingers delicately through Viktor’s hair and blows a few strands upwards. Viktor hums, nuzzling further into Yuuri’s neck.

‘Some hotshot kid from Japan in juniors.’ Yurio, always deeply suspicious of any Japanese skater who isn’t Yuuri, curls his lip for a moment. ‘Skated to Phantom of the Opera once.’

‘I like him already,’ Viktor says. 

‘You would. Yuuri, how does Celestino compare to Yakov as a coach?’

‘ _Um_.’ Yuuri instinctively cuddles Viktor tighter. He’s got one arm draped around Viktor’s shoulders, palm cradling Viktor’s head, which lolls back and forth a little with the rocking of the coach. ‘There’s no comparison?’

‘One of them has more hair,’ mumbles Viktor. ‘Three guesses who.’

‘Go back to sleep, you silly boy,’ Yakov says.

‘How’s this a… is this supposed to be you? God. Your fans are the worst. Vitya, see, it’s a painting. Vitya. Vitya?’

Yuuri adjusts the position of his arm and smiles at Yurio. ‘Shhh, don’t wake him up.’

* * *

**_9\. playing footsie_ **

‘Mmm,’ Yuuri says, head tilted to one side, gazing at Viktor through his hazy eyelashes as though he knows Viktor down to the bone. ‘How many do you want?’

Viktor blinks. He opens his mouth. He can’t… he can’t decide, he hasn’t thought about this long enough, he never thought he’d be thinking about the future until Yuuri gave him one. He’s twenty-nine years old.

‘I,’ he says. ‘I don’t know. Two?’

‘Boys or girls?’

Under the kitchen table, Viktor feels something brush his foot. ‘I don’t know,’ he admits. He’s not used to being drawn out like this. Being drawn into a conversation about some silly, offhand comment he made as if he meant it. Yuuri has a way of ferreting out Viktor’s real wishes when they’re a mystery to Viktor himself, of taking Viktor’s wants seriously, fickle and passing and foolish as they are. A kiss from Yuuri. A trip home to Hasetsu. Children.

The something under the table turns out to be Yuuri’s foot. Yuuri strokes Viktor’s foot with his own, traps it between both of his feet — holds it, almost. His eyes never leave his plate. ‘You don’t have to decide.’ Then he glances up as he puts another forkful of food into his mouth, and apparently sees something in Viktor’s expression which makes his mouth pull sideways. It’s not a smile because it doesn’t quite reach his eyes; it’s a look of instant recognition. Viktor has spent the better part of his life trying to surprise everyone around him, and he falls and sinks and relaxes into Yuuri with Yuuri’s total lack of surprise at everything Viktor is and does. ‘Now,’ Yuuri finishes, and he chews and swallows, taking his time. ‘You don’t have to decide  _now_.’

The kitchen settles into a comfortable silence. Viktor pushes his food around his plate, childishly, for a few seconds, and he can feel Yuuri watching him. Watching Viktor process all this. Processing Viktor’s processing. Yuuri’s foot slips between Viktor’s ankles and rests there like an invitation, waiting for Viktor to move and respond and run the backs of his toes over Yuuri’s beautiful arch. When Viktor doesn’t, Yuuri pulls away gently, just far enough to rub the arch of his foot against Viktor’s soles. After a moment or two, Viktor presses back.

‘Can we,’ he begins. He doesn’t know how to finish the question.  _Can we? Can we, really?_  Viktor presses his tongue to the backs of his teeth. He can feel himself slipping back into that tired old half-joking tone as he asks: ‘How about I bring you a gold medal, and then we’ll talk?’

Yuuri puts his fork down. ‘We can have babies whenever we’re ready and when we want to.’


	28. teenage vitya

**[dragonsenshi4life](https://dragonsenshi4life.tumblr.com/) asked: Young Viktor getting Makka from Yakov after winning a huge competition? ^w^**

‘I’m proud of you,’ Yakov says, arms folded, because Yakov may be harsh to his skaters but he never skimps on praise when it has been truly earned. ‘Now take the off-season to rest and recharge. You have worked very hard. I will —’

‘Can I have the keys to the rink?’ says Viktor. 

Yakov blinks. He catches himself mid-sentence. He narrows his eyes, and asks: ‘Why?’

‘To rest and recharge,’ Viktor says innocently, that infernal child, casually balancing on one leg and pulling the other leg up behind him by the ankle to stretch. ‘I find the rink very relaxing —’

‘You will  _not_ ,’ Yakov thunders, ‘I repeat, will  _not_ , train at mid-season levels during your off time! Haven’t I stressed this enough? I warned Sasha before you and I am warning you now about —’

‘— slacking off? Yes. I won’t,’ says Viktor without blinking. They are very good at interrupting each other. Despite being exactly half Yakov’s height, Viktor is the only skater in his age group comfortable with regularly talking back to Yakov. It helps that Viktor is also the only skater in his age group who produces consistently good  _results_. ‘Don’t worry, Yakov Oskarovich. I have a few ideas I want to —’

‘ _No_.’ Yakov closes his eyes. He can already see in his mind’s eye Viktor age twenty-five, a burned-out wreck of his promising younger self. Yakov prides himself on being a tough coach because toughness gets results; as a coach, this exact scenario is Yakov’s worst nightmare. ‘I am banning you from the rink outside of normal practice time. I’ll tell them to kick you out if they see you around here.’

‘What am I going to do in the daytime, then?’ Viktor asks in a very reasonable voice.

 _My God_ , Yakov thinks, and wishes for a drink. For the lack of something stronger he takes a long swig from his water bottle instead, putting off having to answer the question as long as possible. Viktor waits patiently, his head cocked to one side like an infuriating little bird.

At last Yakov lowers the water bottle from his mouth and begins screwing the cap back on. ‘Do you expect me to know what you young people do in your spare time? Go watch a movie! Go to the park! Eat lunch with your friends!’

‘Am I supposed to have friends?’

Yakov puts his water bottle down and looks at Viktor.

Three hours later they are standing in the local dog shelter. Insufferable boy that he is, Viktor’s twisting one strand of his hair around his finger as the owner walks them from enclosure to enclosure. Even before Viktor opens his mouth, Yakov already knows he’ll be using the  _you-are-being-stupid-and-I-am-the-logical-one-here_ tone Viktor always switches to when he’s bored to the point of irritation. Why the commentators and the press seem to find this child so charming, Yakov will never know. 

‘Look,’ says Viktor in an undertone, ‘if all you want is to get me out of your hair, you should just say so.’

‘Shut up and pay attention to her,’ Yakov snaps.

‘This one we call Makkachin,’ the owner says, politely ignoring their hissed exchange. ‘We found the whole litter of puppies under a bridge, poor things. Most of his brothers and sisters have already been adopted —’

Viktor’s already turning away as she points into the enclosure, but then he pauses. He looks. He opens his mouth just slightly, and looks again. He leans first one arm on the top of the fence, and then the other.

Yakov watches Viktor fall in love.

* * *

**[argyros](http://argyros.tumblr.com/) asked: Please tell us about teenage victor's experimentation with makeup**

Lilia lets him do his own makeup for competitions after Viktor turns sixteen. Viktor doesn’t think his age has anything to do with it. She just got tired of his constant fidgeting. (’If you let me bring Makkachin backstage I’d sit still,’ said Viktor, who was not very sure this was true. ‘ _No_ ,’ Lilia and Yakov replied at the same time.)

Lilia doesn’t stop being involved, though. She stands off to one side with her arms crossed over her chest, observing Viktor’s technique and giving occasional, terse feedback. ‘Blend that down a little more. Not enough powder. Good. No. No. Very nice —’ before Viktor nearly pokes himself in the eye with his eyeliner pen. Lilia checks her watch every now and then, though her expression never changes. ‘Go slow and be careful. We have time.’

‘No, we don’t,’ mutters Georgi, who’s slapping on black eyeshadow as if it has personally offended him. Viktor and Lilia say nothing. They both know Viktor never gets pre-competition nerves.

Viktor studies his reflection in the dusty mirror. He’s slowly learning to scrutinise his own features. He’s never really thought about his face that way before, but it’s a good skill to master. ‘Should I add more blush?’

‘Vitya,  _ten minutes_ ,’ Yakov says from the doorway.

‘Okay.’ Viktor picks up the brush again. ‘I guess I will, then.’

Viktor finishes getting ready with less than a minute to spare. He scores a personal best.

 

Viktor knows performance makeup is supposed to be heavy, so the first time he wears makeup out of the house that isn’t for a competition, he deliberately puts on much less than he’s used to wearing. It takes a while, and he starts over a few times — he has to train his hand not to pick up so much pigment on the brush — but Viktor’s in no hurry. He’s an early riser, and he eats breakfast mouthful by patient mouthful, sitting crosslegged in front of his wardrobe’s full-length mirror with Makkachin in his lap. He wants to get his makeup as close to perfect as he possibly can, even if this is his first time. Viktor cares a lot and thinks a lot about everything he does; that’s what makes him a good skater.

At the rink, he asks Alyona: ‘What do you think of my makeup?’

‘What?’ She stops what she’s doing and looks at him, really looks at him, letting her gaze travel from eyebrows to carefully darkened eyelashes to lips and cheeks. ‘Huh. I didn’t notice you were wearing makeup.’

‘Oh,’ says Viktor. He reconsiders his approach.

 

Viktor’s not sure whether it’s the smokey eye or the red lipstick that catches Yakov’s eye first. Viktor skates in a blithe circle around Yakov, comes to a stop a safe distance away from him, smiles at Yakov and waits. But Yakov just snorts and says, ‘Silly boy, you’re going to sweat it all off.’

‘So I’ll put it on again after practice,’ Viktor replies, and goes back to working on his quad sal.

After practice, however, Yakov walks into the locker room to find that Viktor’s changed out of his training clothes into a comfortable sweater and pastel skirt and is sitting on the edge of the bench, strapping on his sandals. Yakov hands Viktor one of his stray hair ties and stands over Viktor for a long moment, studying him.

‘If you want to compete in ladies’ singles instead, you need to tell me as soon as possible.’

‘I’m not a girl and I’m not trying to look like a girl,’ says Viktor, although the words don’t surprise him. ‘I want to look like a boy with long hair who’s wearing a skirt and makeup.’

 

Interviewers visibly hesitate over whether to compliment him by calling him pretty or handsome. This is exactly how Viktor likes it. There are a lot of interviewers lately, more than Viktor can keep track of. Passers-by turn to look at Viktor in the street wherever he goes, though Viktor can’t tell if that’s because they’ve seen him on TV or because he now has a habit of putting on glitter eyeliner and lipstick just to go to the supermarket.

It could also be the fishnet tights. The point is, when people stare at him Viktor likes to damn well be the reason why.

‘You’re getting a lot of attention here,’ Georgi comments, after they duck into a public bathroom to avoid a group of strangers Viktor would rather not pretend to be interested in.

‘Hmm? Yes.’ Viktor licks his finger and cleans up a stray smudge of eyeshadow. He’s tired of looking at his own face. At this point, though, that’s not a habit he can break. ‘It’s the way I dress.’

‘No,’ Georgi scoffs, ‘it’s because you’ve just won Russian nationals.’ He clicks his tongue at Viktor, irritated. ‘Knock it off. You look fine.’

‘I know,’ Viktor responds absently.

Later that night, seated on the floor next to his bed, Viktor tells Makkachin: ‘If I win Worlds I’ll be really famous.’ Makkachin gazes up at Viktor as though he, too, thinks  _if_  should turn into  _when_. ‘I wouldn’t mind that. I think it would be fun.’ Viktor looks across his bed at the wardrobe mirror, at his makeup-less self, at his hair still damp and tangled from the shower, and scrunches up his face to look as ugly as possible. It is still quite a photogenic face. ‘I’d be nice to everyone then. I’d let them…I’d let them.’

He doesn’t win Worlds that year. Not yet.

* * *

**Anonymous asked: i've always wondered what vitya's first crush and first heartbreak were like!**

i think viktor early on is very messy while simultaneously being a perfectionist. his crushes rarely go unrequited. people have unrequited crushes on viktor. and he’s self-aware because he’s a very smart kid and he’s growing up very fast while remaining kind of an emotional mess in other areas, and he thinks (he has to laugh about it, too) that he’s got no trouble at all making people like him — it’s keeping them that’s the problem. viktor makes mistakes and he screws up and when he’s young, he can’t deal with that. he can’t deal with failure. viktor works very very hard and in skating his goal is always to skate a perfect program, clean, beautiful, and at this age he doesn’t know how to filter out the differences between skating and other parts of his life so he approaches everything with these fierce uncompromising lenses on.

and so after the first fight or the first few arguments everything starts to become tainted for viktor or maybe the other person’s flaws start to get under his skin too (and he wonders where couples get the patience to put up with each other, and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t have that and something must be wrong) and it’s not right any more, it’s not clean, and he just wants to abandon everything and start over. he’ll try again. next time, with someone else, he’ll be better. he’ll make things work. he doesn’t have to wait too long before the next person comes along.

and if adult viktor is fearful of rejection teenage viktor is even more so and he tells himself that it’s fine, it could be worse, he knows he’s A Lot to handle and he just, he prefers to end things before the other person inevitably comes to the limit of their patience with him. it’s staying in control. viktor gets a reputation for being a heartbreaker and he tells himself he’d rather be known for breaking hearts than get his heart broken and at least  _he_  isn’t the one left heartbroken (neither of these are true)

when viktor reaches his twenties and his track record, unlike his competition record, is full of short-lived relationships and messy breakups and things that upset him when he wakes up in the night, he wonders if there’s something very wrong with him. maybe there is

* * *

**Anonymous asked: consider: younger!vitya getting his heart broken for the very first time**

Viktor comes into the rink with the inner folds of his scarf pulled up over his nose and mouth, shielding his face from the morning Moscow chill. The scarf is pale blue, Viktor’s favourite, and its too-long ends trail behind him unheeded like everything else Viktor’s ever forgotten. Yakov takes one look at Viktor as he unwinds the scarf from around his neck and shrugs off his coat, and immediately knows what sort of day this is going to be. Viktor Nikiforov is unpredictable to many people. Yakov is not one of them.

Viktor’s already plugging in his earbuds as he walks past Yakov without a word, so Yakov leaves him to warm up on his own. Yakov has other students to give his attention to; he’s  _not_  going to become the kind of coach who prizes one at the expense of others. Even if he raised this one, helped  _make_  this one, knows how to detect those stray hints peeking through the child’s famously polished exterior. The heavy eye makeup at five a.m. is one — Viktor is clearly a morning person — and Yakov’s already familiar with Viktor’s habit of covering up dark circles with a smokey eye. The uncharacteristically brisk pace, when Yakov usually has to yell at him to get a move on (while Viktor calmly winds his earphones into a tidy loop around his fingers). The choice of warm-up music, which Yakov can make a good guess at, based on Viktor’s particularly vicious movements today.

Yakov doesn’t end up taking the aspirin tablets he gets out of his bag as Viktor is warming up, having a feeling that he’ll need them. But he comes close.

The fifth time Viktor flubs a jump he’s been landing consistently for months, Yakov tosses down the box of tissues and snaps at him. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘Sorry, Yakov,’ says Viktor in the smooth, tightly controlled voice which means he is absolutely not sorry. ‘The takeoff was wrong. I knew I wouldn’t land it.’

Yakov tamps down the surging tide of frustration ( _no, you stupid boy, I meant what’s wrong with you today, not just that one jump and you knew exactly what I meant, don’t think you can fool me —_ ) and just says: ‘Never mind. Start over from the top. And do better this time.’

Viktor glides from one end of the ice to the other in a single clean streak of motion: going fast, faster than he should. Yakov folds his arms across his chest. Halfway through the run-through Yakov barks at Viktor to stop, and as Viktor skates towards the rink barrier to meet him they are both visibly working to rein in their tempers.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ Yakov demands. ‘You’re angry. This is not an angry program.’

‘Wow,’ says Viktor, arching on the vowel; the  _I-hadn’t-noticed_  is all but sitting on his lips. Yakov waits for him to break into tears, or drop some smart-ass remark that could get Yakov yelling and clear the air, or perhaps even raise his voice himself (which Viktor has not done in years) — all scenarios which are not ideal, but better than what’s happening now. Viktor doesn’t.

Instead, the pause is so momentary that Yakov only notices it because he’s paying attention. ‘Okay,’ Viktor says, light. Easy. ‘I’ll start again.’

Yakov grits his teeth for a second, then forces his jaw to relax. ‘No, you will not. You — go for a walk.’

‘What?’

‘I said a walk. Around the rink —’ Yakov improvises. ‘— twice. And to the other end of the street and back.’ He almost says  _don’t come back until you’re in a better frame of mind_ , but stops himself at the last second when the genuine thought occurs to him that Viktor might just never come back.

Viktor blinks at Yakov, quite slowly, as though he hasn’t quite understood. Then he tilts his head — just a little — and smiles — just a little, which is Viktor’s most frustrating expression in an arsenal of frustrating expressions. In a terribly reasonable voice, he responds: ‘But I don’t want to go for a walk.’

‘You don’t have a choice,’ Yakov says.

Years later, Yuri Plisetsky’s outbursts of temper almost come as a relief.

* * *

**[youremarvelous](http://youremarvelous.tumblr.com/) asked: I'd like to hear about teenage vitya's attempts to outpace the Big Sad**

Viktor enters seniors at age fifteen. His [free skate](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fopen.spotify.com%2Ftrack%2F3dwxGQFk1It3pnagwbmdnH&t=YjlkNzQxMzY2ZTYyNzYwZThkNTA2MTFjZDJiMmZhYWI4NWQwZTFkMyxST1dhWW5oRQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AuYGm45OKteCjJS-CIQmDaQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkevystel.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F169466860365%2Fid-like-to-hear-about-teenage-vityas-attempts-to&m=1) is ambitious, powerful, if a little overdone — everyone and their mother has done Swan Lake and  _especially_  if they’re Russian — and it plays to Viktor’s strengths. Lilia drills him through the choreography until he  _makes it work_. A safe, reliable choice for this year’s newcomer to seniors, even if that person happens to be the junior world champion. A solid program. Viktor falls three times the first time he skates it in competition.

The first time, he loses his balance on a jump that’s always been his weakest. The second time he  _should_  have landed perfectly. Viktor stops keeping count after that. But he watches it played back later and sees himself, furious and close to tears, throw in a difficult jump combination Yakov wouldn’t approve of to make up for the loss in points, and then slip and fall immediately afterwards. The next minute or so is hailed as the most passionate skating judges have seen from Viktor Nikiforov so far. His Ina Bauer gets played back a million times. Viktor doesn’t remember finishing the program.

The commentators call it ‘heart-stopping’. Yakov calls it a glorified temper tantrum. Viktor doesn’t see what all the fuss is about. He didn’t injure himself on the ice, and he didn’t discover anything new, either. He’s always known he had this in him.

 

Figure skating at this level introduces you to a small, tightly knit, yet highly international community. You meet all sorts of people. You gain new perspectives. Viktor breaks the first of many stereotypes by being Russian and a lightweight. He discovers this at age seventeen, his first year at the Olympics, throwing up in the bathroom of somebody else’s hotel suite while they laugh and hold his hair back. Viktor decides he’s having fun, and that he should go back for more.

He does have fun, quite a lot of it. He goes out alone most of the time and tries not to get lost in foreign cities —  _foolhardy boy_ , as Yakov would call him, but that doesn’t matter since Yakov neither knows nor cares. Viktor enjoys himself; he’s easy to please, he likes trying new things, he likes dancing, he’s a good dancer and he likes attention and he gets attention and what’s not to like? He’s not  _not_  having fun. He’s not  _not_  attracted to all these people. So it’s fine. Viktor likes performing: that’s all.

Viktor’s never been a quitter. He keeps going back, even when he’s one hour deep into a club and bodies are pressed up on all sides of him and he realises he’s  _bored_ , and then he isn’t… anything, and he isn’t thinking anything, either. He supposes he isn’t drunk enough, that’s all. He supposes he hasn’t practised enough. This is supposed to feel real.

* * *

**Anonymous asked: I love your teen Vitya headcanons T_T what do you think Yuuri would think about sloppy hoe Vitya?**

they’re in the restaurant long after most of the inn’s customers have gone to bed and watching videos of viktor’s old interviews on yuuri’s phone, and viktor doesn’t know how they got to this point, he doesn’t know how he feels about looking at his old self, but he’s got his head tucked on yuuri’s shoulder and yuuri’s fingers are threading through his hair and it’s all he’s been wanting for so long, the closeness, the warmth.

and then yuuri flicks his gaze sideways. the interview’s in russian, the video quality is bad, the subtitles are questionable, but he pins viktor with devastating accuracy; he says, ‘you were so hungover in this, weren’t you.’ it’s not a question.

‘mmm?’ says viktor, first half-asleep, and then surprised. no one’s ever noticed, or if people did, they’ve never asked viktor about it. no one’s ever asked viktor how his night went — the morning after he all-but-sleepwalked from one hotel to another feeling empty and light with his shoes in one hand and a pain in his neck from getting his hair pulled. there have been many such mornings. there have been a lot of moments of sudden, punch-drunk awareness and realising that he’s never been more bored. there has never been a point of comparison for viktor to figure out whether that’s supposed to be normal. viktor, now, raises his head from yuuri’s warm shoulder and actually pays attention to the phone screen. in retrospect, the hangover is fairly obvious.

‘probably,’ he says.

‘yeah,’ yuuri says, wry, curious, and he looks down at viktor with something like a smile playing around the sides of his mouth. ‘tell me about it?’

and viktor does.


	29. rinkmates au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: What do you think would have happened if teen!Vitya had met teen!Yuuri?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i picture their age gap being about one or two years maximum in this

‘Wow,’ Viktor says.

Yuuri doesn’t see why Viktor should have reacted that way — Yuuri flubs his jumps all the time, it’s not surprising — but he supposes any level of mediocrity is surprising to Viktor. Yuuri skates over to the rink barrier and grabs his water bottle, his face burning. His ears are ringing; there’s a lot of noise in his head. Yuuri’s head is very noisy all the time, these days.

Viktor, having come in just in time to catch the tail end of Yuuri’s run-through, is standing near the entrance, already deep in conversation with Yakov. Yakov dismisses Yuuri for five minutes’ break with a curt nod. Yuuri can sense Viktor’s gaze burning into his back as he walks away, and sickness pools somewhere shallow near his ribs. It’s been a long day. (It’s barely midday.) He’s going to the bathroom.

Yuuri goes to the bathroom.

He doesn’t cry. He puts the lid down and sits on the toilet seat, that’s all, and pulls his knees up to his chest so he can prop his heels on the very edge of the seat. That’s all. He watches the discoloured, unchanging cubicle door in front of him and waits for the new unsteady beating of his blood to pass. Feeling like this — like what? — like  _this_  is new. It will pass. He’s adjusting. It’s only temporary.

Yakov gave him five minutes. For the first time in the few months since he started training under Yakov, Yuuri does not listen to Yakov.

Some time later a pair of neatly laced sneakers walks across the clean tile in front of Yuuri’s cubicle and pauses. Yuuri can see them stop directly in the centre of the gap underneath the cubicle door. He hates that he recognises the pastel-coloured tops of those sneakers, and he hates that he’s got the mental energy to think about hating that.

There’s a knock. Hesitant at first, polite, then again — quicker and impatient. Yuuri takes a slow breath as quietly as he can. He fights the urge to tell Viktor to go away. Mostly because he thinks — he doesn’t know Viktor, but he thinks Viktor  _would_  go away, and then — Yuuri doesn’t know how he feels about that.

‘Yeah,’ Yuuri says. He clears his throat. ‘I’m in here.’

‘Are you crying?’ Viktor sounds curious.

Yuuri’s answer comes out fluidly, before he has time to stop and think about it. ‘No.’

‘Do you want to come out?’

‘No.’

Viktor doesn’t respond, then, and Yuuri thinks that’s the end of their conversation (their first interaction, Yuuri’s first impression on Viktor  _ever_ ). Then the sneakers disappear and Viktor’s footsteps cross the bathroom rapidly, and Yuuri hears what sounds like a chair being dragged across the floor, scraping the tiles. The chair arrives in front of Yuuri’s cubicle and is wedged firmly into place. A moment later, the top half of Viktor’s face appears above the door.

They stare at each other.

Viktor’s fine, long hair is dishevelled. All ten of his fingers are curled over the top of the door, seemingly to steady himself. He must be standing on tiptoe. His nail polish has chipped off at the edges, badly.

‘Hi,’ he says. ‘I’m Viktor Nikiforov.’

Yuuri squints at him. ‘I know.’

* * *

Viktor works harder than anyone Yuuri’s ever seen, and Yuuri is used to being the hardest-working one at his home rink. Yuuri gets used to finding Viktor already there when he slips into the rink to skate figures on difficult nights. Not being alone is disorienting at first, but Viktor leaves him plenty of space and Yuuri soon learns to forget that Viktor’s even there. Viktor keeps to himself, quietly sketching out some routine at the other end of the rink with his cheap earbuds plugged in, lost in thought, and nine times out of ten he’s gone by the time Yuuri comes back to himself.

Tonight Viktor finds him sitting crosslegged on one of the benches outside the rink, jacket zipped up to his chin for warmth. Yuuri’s tearing open the bag of chips he brought with him to the rink, and he almost doesn’t notice Viktor approaching. Viktor broke off abruptly in the middle of whatever he was skating and went into the locker room; he was gone a long time. What Viktor does in his own time is a mystery to anyone who knows him.

Viktor’s carrying two bottles of mineral water. He hands one off to Yuuri and immediately sets about opening the bottle he’s kept back for himself. Yuuri takes the bottle of water without looking up, and sets it beside him on the bench.

‘You have good spins,’ Viktor says.

Yuuri already knows this — logically he knows it, some part of him  _somewhere_  believes it. Hearing it from Viktor means something else. It makes the iron weight in his empty, empty stomach lift a little bit (and he’s not  _hungry_ , he doesn’t need to eat, he just, he needs the chips, he needs to stuff himself until he doesn’t feel anything any more) and right here, right now, before he’s won his first big competition, Yuuri reaps his first reward.

Yuuri blows out a long exhale. He realises he’s supposed to respond when he notices Viktor still standing there, looking at him.

‘Thanks.’

Viktor doesn’t seem to mind the one-word response, shrugging it off with a little motion of his head that’s half acknowledgement and half disinterest. He watches Yuuri for a few more seconds, lingering on some point near Yuuri’s eyelids, the sweaty hair sticking to Yuuri’s forehead. 

Then Viktor notices the bag of chips Yuuri’s steadily working through and a small frown appears on his face. 

‘You shouldn’t eat that. It’s bad for you.’

Yuuri grits his teeth. ‘Okay, Viktor.’

* * *

‘Can you braid my hair?’ Viktor asks, twisting up a section of his hair beside his head as he turns to look at Yuuri. He’s got a hairpin sticking out of one side of his mouth, and there’s a red imprint on his cheek from where he’s been napping on Yuuri’s shoulder. His voice is light and neutral, as if the thought’s just occurred to him.

Yuuri takes the drinking straw out of his own mouth long enough to say, ‘You can braid it yourself. You’re better at it.’

‘Oh.’ Viktor looks down; for a second his expression is unreadable. He removes the hairpin from his mouth and examines it. ‘That’s true.’

* * *

Yuuri waits till they’re alone in the locker room together before he says: ‘Viktor.’ He has to say Viktor’s name twice before Viktor looks at him. ‘Why are you upset?’

Viktor’s eyes widen briefly before he turns the expression into a simple lift of the eyebrows, innocently surprised. He glances down, and then he’s looking at Yuuri through the veil of his pale eyelashes. ‘I’m not.’

‘Yes, you are.’

Viktor raises his head fully then and meets Yuuri’s gaze head-on. Yuuri can see the cruel retort sitting on Viktor’s tongue — _why don’t you go back to trying to land that quad sal, Yuuri?_ — but then Viktor bites it down. The set of his mouth changes. His eyes change. He blinks, and when his lips stretch into a smile for Yuuri, it’s still nauseatingly fake, but there isn’t a mean edge to it.

‘Mmm,’ says Viktor. ‘Yuuri, I’m going to go for a walk.’

* * *

‘— and competing against  _you_  is too much, it’s a waste of time to pretend anyone could take me seriously next to —’

‘Who told you that?’

Yuuri takes a deep breath and cups his hands over his nose and mouth, pressing icy fingertips to the bridge of his nose. Viktor’s hand is on his shoulder, and Viktor’s grip isn’t gentle. ‘Don’t act like it isn’t true.’

Viktor’s nails dig into Yuuri’s collarbone before he loosens his grip very deliberately, as though he’s only just remembered himself. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet and deadly. ‘Who told you that?’

‘I don’t.’ Yuuri rips off his glasses and drags the back of his hand roughly over his eyes. ‘Care. I don’t care. Just. I thought — I was, I was going to retire, anyway, after juniors. Just stop. And not go on to seniors.’

Viktor’s mouth falls open slightly, and then shuts. From some place distant inside himself, Yuuri watches Viktor’s eyelids flicker as he processes this. Viktor’s tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip; he starts to speak, but stops again. With the hand that isn’t still holding on to Yuuri’s shoulder, he reaches out to push a strand of Yuuri’s hair back into place, then stops himself at the last moment and tucks his own hair behind his ear instead.

‘I’d rather skate with you,’ says Viktor, and Yuuri supposes he’s trying to help, and he supposes it  _is_  true, Viktor would, though Viktor doesn’t  _need_  to, Yuuri makes him look so much better by comparison.


	30. more touch-starved viktor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: hey! no need to answer (ofc) but how much do you think viktor thinks about sensory stuff / comfort when it comes to clothing? just wondering

viktor's life up until yuuri is divided into phases: pastel scarf child (the one we see in that magazine interview with makkachin), graceful & gracious late-teens gold medallist who is stunningly poised (chris’ flashback) and also has a dangerous hyper-competitive hellion edge to him, and probably a lot more. and when viktor’s in the first of these periods of his life, when he’s all soft and gentle and polite and wrapping his scarf lovingly around his dog, he does dress very comfortably and comfortingly, he dresses to feel good (in the rare times he’s thinking about he dresses). he has a lot of light, fluffy scarves. he wears his long hair loose. pastel sneakers are a thing. this viktor-phase is where yuuri’s own love of cosy stripey sweaters comes from.

the time in the middle is what i personally think of as the worst time of viktor’s life, mental-health-wise, even as it’s possibly the most exciting time of his career. the rise to legend status. and viktor is always on, always performing. he dresses to suit the image he’s picked and the personality he intends to perform; everything is a calculated, deliberate choice. everything is functional. picking clothes is a thrill that leaves him satisfied, at first, because he’s conveying what he wants to convey; and then he doesn’t feel anything at all. he just puts clothes on and takes them off at the end of the day and there’s no pleasure in it. (viktor is a fashion icon)

when it comes to sensory stuff viktor is touch-starved. yakov hugs him, sometimes (increasingly rarely, as viktor grows older and changes in ways yakov can’t communicate with any more). viktor hugs makkachin. that’s about it. for a long time (during the worst times, which can go on for months and months) sex is the only place he gets the kind of touch/contact he needs, and you know, i think viktor’s very out of it, he doesn’t really feel present, he is not in a good place mentally during this time and he’s like, this is supposed to feel good? this is supposed to feel real. okay

AND THEN YOU HAVE YUURI and viktor, who in his younger days was super not into people touching him in any kind of proprietary way or touching him unless viktor TOLD THEM TO, discovers that he is a very touchy-feely person!!! he loves yuuri!!! he wants to be near yuuri!! suddenly viktor is very aware of where he is and his own body and what it feels like to wear a jinbei, to spoil himself with good food during his season off, to spoil himself by soaking in the hot springs. the jinbei is now one of viktor’s favourite pieces of clothing. the jinbei is super comfortable. yuuri wears it too when he comes to the onsen with viktor and viktor. wants to be that jinbei. he wants to be inside that jinbei with yuuri

viktor has always worn long-sleeved, v-necked, stretched-thin sweaters and loose sweatpants or leggings when he’s alone at home, but when he’s got yuuri snuggling into his side, viktor relearns the pleasures of touch. he wears a lot of hoodies. by which i mean viktor owns one (1) hoodie and steals yuuri’s all the time. viktor wears beanies, viktor looks up at grey skies and sticks his tongue out to catch the snowflakes (and yuuri pulls the beanie off him when they come home together and kisses viktor’s earlobes). viktor gives yuuri foot rubs all the time, but viktor also gives himself foot rubs. he digs out old sneakers from the bottom of his wardrobe and old, faded socks that feel snug against the soles of his feet and fit just right around his ankles. he nestles deep into the blankets where it’s so warm his cheeks flush pink from the heat, and yuuri comes home with the groceries, pokes his head into the bedroom, smiles down at viktor: yeah, i’m home. you’re home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PASTEL TEENAGE VIKTOR
> 
> SCARVES
> 
> COLOURFUL THREADS BRAIDED INTO HIS HAIR
> 
> baggy sweaters, long light grey cardigans that trail past his waist
> 
> converse high-tops, pastel socks, clip-on earrings
> 
> tiny dog charm on the end of his necklace or hair braid
> 
> wearing a bunch of elastic hair ties on his wrist
> 
> just said ‘i want him to have a friendship bracelet but he doesn’t have friends’ on the groupchat and that’s the worst thing i’ve ever typed


	31. vogue everyday makeup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: omg Victor doing VOGUE's everyday makeup thing is so perfecttttttt people would want his makeup tutorials all the time from then on

‘Oh my god, just cut out the entire skincare portion,  _Jesus_ ,’ Yurio hisses into the microphone. ‘That would be a twenty-minute video alone for this high-maintenance bitch.’

‘Yeah. Yeah,’ the  _Vogue_  video director responds, after a brief pause, in a pleasant professional monotone. ‘We’re going to have to cut out the colourful language too.’

‘I  _am_  a high-maintenance bitch,’ says Viktor, who has said much worse things on camera over the course of his long career. ‘This is Charlotte Tilbury—’ He turns the bottle over in his hand to look at the product name. ‘— Light Wonder Foundation. I just kind of pat it on with my fingers and blend it out with a brush.’

‘That covers  _nothing_ ,’ says Yurio, appalled.

‘Fortunately,’ Viktor singsongs, ‘I have nothing to cover.’

Yurio makes a dissatisfied grumbling noise which is surprisingly deep. ‘Is this what they call no-makeup makeup? Is this how you convince people you’re good-looking?’

‘ _Yurio_ ,’ says Viktor, his voice like honey. He’s swirling the brush over his face with smooth, practised strokes, barely glancing in the mirror. ‘Anyone who’s seen pictures of me from five years ago would know I don’t do no-makeup makeup.’

‘You do now.’

Viktor’s hand stops moving. He looks down at the makeup products strewn over the countertop, back up at the camera, then straight into Yurio’s eyes. He pauses, considers, bites his lip. Then he says, ‘Excuse me, just a moment,’ and vanishes into the bedroom next door.

Sprawled comfortably on the sofa in Yuuri and Viktor’s living room, Yurio puts his legs up on the coffee table in Viktor’s absence with an expression of deep contentment. ‘ _Now_  we’ll get something interesting.’

‘Right,’ Viktor says crisply, striding back into view. He dumps an armful of palettes and tubes and little pots — well-used, the packaging slightly stained — on the counter. ‘Here’s my everyday makeup from roughly my late teens to early twenties. Take your feet off the table.’

Yurio swings his legs to the floor.

‘Concealer,’ Viktor tells the camera, holding up his YSL Touche Éclat highlighter pen. ‘For colour-correcting and highlighting. My bone structure, it’s like… this. Like…’ He gestures with his index finger at the deep tear troughs on either side of his nose, at a loss for words. ‘So I just…’ 

Viktor has always been far better at demonstrating than explaining. Yuuri and Yurio both have an extensive skating vocabulary made up of the peculiar words and sound effects Viktor uses to describe particular motions. Viktor sets about perfecting whatever he finds wanting in the fine bones and sharp angles of his face, his expression neutral, moving with the swiftness of long experience, while Yurio leans back in his seat like a king.

‘Funny how he can conceal his dark circles but not his blatant thirst for Katsuki Yuuri.’

‘Thank you, Yurio,’ says Viktor blithely. ‘Why did you volunteer to do the voiceover again?’

‘Are you kidding me? This is the best day of my life.’

‘Mac Paint Pot to prime the eyelids,’ Viktor continues, ‘before I finish the face. This is an old one. I’ve had it for years.’ Rapidly he dabs the cream-coloured stuff on his eyelids with a fingertip, then switches from fingers to a brush again. ‘Blush… I’m not much of a blush person. This is by Hourglass, I think.’

Yurio mock-gasps. ‘No contour?’

‘Do I need contour?’

‘He doesn’t need contour,’ Yurio declares to the camera, somewhat grudgingly. ‘Fucking show-off.’

(‘Edit that part out,’ the director mutters, glancing at her colleagues.)

‘Now the fun part.’ Viktor’s eyes are alight; there’s an edge to his smile that hasn’t been regularly seen on camera since he won the World Championships for the third time. ‘Back then, what I did was certainly  _not_  no-makeup makeup. This is —’

‘ _Blue eyeshadow?_ ’

‘I’ve made bad decisions, okay?’

‘Write this down! Viktor Nikiforov admitting he’s made mistakes!’

‘That’s Katsuki-Nikiforov to you.’ Viktor snatches up a little tube of glitter glue. ‘Look, it’s all right with glitter on top!  _Look_.’

He dips his finger into a half-empty pot of silver glitter and pats it onto one eyelid, and then another. Yurio lets out a long sigh as he watches the results take shape.

‘Fine. It’s not terrible.’

‘Yurio.’

‘It looks good! Fine, you win! Whatever!’

‘I didn’t fill in my eyebrows back then,’ Viktor murmurs; he’s far away now, reminiscing. ‘I should have, looking at old photos, but the trend was… See, Britney Spears had very thin eyebrows in the nineties and —’

He’s interrupted by a loud snort.

‘ _Hey_ ,’ Viktor responds at once, though there’s no heat in his tone. ‘I don’t make fun of the things you like — I don’t make fun of your tiger-print clothing.’

‘Yes you do, by passive-aggressively buying me more of it.’

Viktor concedes the point with a shrug.

‘ _G-o-d_ ,’ Yurio drawls, sounding almost impressed, as Viktor traces a perfect exaggerated flick with liquid eyeliner. He does it in one smooth stroke, unerring, unhesitating, and can’t quite keep the satisfaction off his face afterwards. ‘You were an extra motherfucker back then.’

‘Yurio!’ Viktor looks hurt — or, at least, as hurt as somebody can look with one eye winged out and the other eye suddenly appearing much smaller than the other. ‘I’m insulted.’

‘Yeah, okay,’ Yurio concedes. ‘You still are.’

‘That’s better.’

‘This takes me back,’ sighs Yurio while Viktor paints his lips a deep red, sets down the lipstick bullet on the counter, then slips his fingers deep into his mouth to suck off the excess lipstick with a smirk for the camera’s benefit. ‘Those were the days. Those were memorable days, or whatever, even if I hate literally everything about your face. You had a  _look_  of your own when you were young. Now you’re just styling yourself after some generic Prince Charming with the haircut of Jack from  _Titanic_!’

‘Well, it looked good on him, too,’ says Viktor, unoffended.

‘Camera’s still running,’ the director says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this is what i envision when i think of younger long-haired viktor](http://thebeautymodel.com/post/158094278225/valentino-fall-2017)


	32. rinkmates au, continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> i have a question. do u have any more thoughts on teenage rinkmates! vikturi ??? like. how would they be friends. how would they fall in love. OR ANYTHING REALLy -- it's just that i read ur au collection ((stars in my eyes!)) and i am so intrigued. even if u don't have anything to add to ur au, i just wanted to drop by to say that it was beautiful and i loved it so much. thank you!!!!

Worlds is a disaster. Viktor medals. Yuuri doesn’t. Yuuri — ha, it’s funny, actually, how much of an understatement that is. 

Yakov says all he needs to say. Yuuri listens to Yakov for as long as he can hear him, and then — at some point in the tirade — he finds that he’s not hearing Yakov any more, he’s listening to his own thoughts instead, and they are just as harsh on Yuuri if not more.

‘Pick yourself up,’ Yakov says, brusque, scorching. ‘It’s not the end of the world.’

Yuuri is seventeen and it feels like the end of the world.

He walks from one end of the corridor to the other and refills his water bottle from the cooler. He stands there for a long moment to calm himself like he’s seen Viktor do, tipping his head back, drawing in slow, shallow breaths. It doesn’t work. Yuuri is not Viktor. He’s tried.

Viktor took bronze, a position he is not happy with. Viktor has gone for a long walk. Yuuri goes for a long bathroom cry.

Later, Yuuri and Viktor stand elbow to elbow in the lift and watch the lift’s doors slide shut. They’re alone. The banquet lasted for hours and Yuuri’s eyes and mouth hurt.

The only thing Viktor’s said to Yuuri all day was, ‘Your eyeliner’s smeared,’ gesturing at Yuuri’s red-rimmed eyes and smudged concealer after coming back from his walk. Yuuri, not trusting himself to speak, responded with a curt nod. Then he fixed his makeup himself.

Now, Yuuri looks sideways. The iron dread in his chest has settled into a familiar, dull weight somewhere near the bottom of his stomach. He can almost ignore it. Viktor’s eyelashes are pale without his mascara and the curve of his mouth sags without the will to pull it into artificial smiles. He’s watching the floor buttons light up one by one as the lift goes up, barely moving; his eyes are a dim blue. He looks tired. He looks calm. Yuuri knows better.

The second Yuuri opens his mouth to speak, he knows he can’t go back. Viktor tenses beside him. Yuuri swallows. 

‘Say something.’

‘You were awful,’ Viktor says bluntly. He doesn’t hesitate. Keeping his gaze fixed on the floor buttons in front of him, he blinks slowly: once, twice. ‘You can do better. Next time.’

Yuuri takes a deep shuddering breath. He knows it’s true. Viktor thinks Yuuri can do better, so it must be true. He’s not sure whether that makes things better or worse.

There’s a soft  _ding_  as the lift reaches Yuuri’s floor. Yuuri’s feet move of their own volition. They take him across the lift’s threshold, stop, move his body back around to meet Viktor’s questioning glance.

‘Come in and help me take my makeup off.’

Viktor’s nodding before Yuuri’s finished the sentence, his expression weary and blank. His whole face looks slack, like a doll-child. Yuuri bites his lip hard. The bronze medal’s still hanging around Viktor’s neck, and Viktor notices Yuuri looking at it as he follows Yuuri down the corridor. His eyes take on a new sharpness and as soon as he’s stepped into Yuuri’s hotel room, he rips the medal off and tosses it into a corner — as if it’s worthless, as if bronze means nothing to him.

‘ _Stop that_ ,’ Yuuri hisses. His chest is starting to hurt again. To hide his face, he stoops over Viktor’s abandoned medal (worthless  _worthless_  any medal except gold is nothing to  _Viktor_ ), picks it up, and lays it carefully on the countertop. ‘Get the makeup wipes. Sit down.’

He doesn’t hear Viktor’s response. Maybe it’s nothing more than a gulped-back inhale. Yuuri squats down and lets himself rest his forehead on his knees for just a brief second, but that’s still too long — when he looks up, he’s met with Viktor’s voice, quiet and uncertain: ‘Yuuri?’

‘Yeah. Just.’ Yuuri goes over to the dressing table and sits down. ‘I’m okay. Just, please.’

Viktor stands at Yuuri’s side and bends over him with the makeup wipe, dabbing ineffectually at Yuuri’s cheeks, before he clicks his tongue in irritation and climbs into Yuuri’s lap.

Yuuri’s too tired to protest. He puts his hands on Viktor’s waist.

Viktor works quietly, cupping Yuuri’s face in his palm, combing fine-boned fingers through Yuuri’s hair. His champagne-warm breath flutters against Yuuri’s eyelids. His legs are long enough for his bare feet to brush the carpet on either side of Yuuri’s hips. The white noise in Yuuri’s head sputters, subsides a little, and spreads out into blank comfort.

Yuuri opens his eyes only once while Viktor is wiping off his makeup. Viktor’s gaze is focussed in a good way — anger gone, focussed on Yuuri, the slant of his pale eyebrows like birds’ wings held still. He looks oddly delicate and curious and young. Yuuri raises his eyes, meets Viktor’s gaze. They don’t talk.

Viktor passes the makeup wipe over Yuuri’s mouth once, then again, applying slightly more pressure. The lipstick comes off. Viktor’s fingertips caress Yuuri’s chin. After some time Yuuri becomes aware that Viktor’s put the makeup wipe down and is simply sitting there in Yuuri’s lap, cradling Yuuri’s face in his hands, the pad of his thumb resting against Yuuri’s lips.

Yuuri breathes in and then out, his heartbeat distant in his ears. Viktor’s thumb traces the curve of Yuuri’s bottom lip and presses gently there. Yuuri’s hands are still resting on Viktor’s waist. Viktor wets his own bottom lip with his tongue and looks at Yuuri through the fragile curtain of his eyelashes. Yuuri closes his eyes.

It’s like a dam breaking. Viktor slumps forward and buries his face in Yuuri’s shoulder, slinging his arms around Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri wraps his arms around Viktor and pulls him close and holds him tightly. They’re both hard, but it doesn’t matter. Yuuri strokes Viktor’s hair. Viktor presses his lips to Yuuri’s collarbone. They stay like that for a long time.


	33. cup of china

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is georgi kind of screwed-up and immature? yes. does he consciously exaggerate for comic effect? also yes

After Yakov yells at Viktor at the Cup of China, Georgi escapes into the men’s bathroom for a nervous piss. Georgi likes dramatics, don’t get him wrong, but he prefers to keep the shouting inside his own head. He’s twenty-seven years old. He’s lived with Yakov for a good portion of his adult life and with Yuri Plisetsky for a few far more memorable years. Georgi is no fool. Screaming internally gives him strength during his programs. In other situations, as he well knows, raising one’s voice isn’t very beautiful at all.

Training under Yakov for a great number of years has taken its toll on Georgi’s sensitive and artistic disposition. It takes its toll on them all — well, Yura’s a little ball of rage to begin with, so the general madness of the St. Petersburg rink doesn’t seem to have affected him that much. Viktor’s losing his hair. Georgi has lost his dignity. To be Russia’s top skater, though, he’d sacrifice anything.

Georgi’s time has come: the bells of his victory are sounding. His patience has been rewarded. The future belongs to Georgi alone! He will conquer the worlds of love and war, and leave Viktor Nikiforov trembling in the dust.

He spends a couple of seconds praying that Viktor won’t walk in at this very moment, summoned like some incubus by Georgi’s frustrated inferiority complex, and doom them both to pissing awkwardly into neighbouring urinals. You can never trust a man like that to respect the one-urinal-gap code.

Thankfully, that doesn’t happen. Later, though, he _does_ find Viktor combing through Yuuri Katsuki’s sports gear in their shared locker room. Meeting Viktor’s bland smile, Georgi installs himself on a private bench in the centre of the room to think about his artistry for fifteen minutes.

It’s a useful ritual. It helps him relax when Yakov has been popping blood vessels, and takes his mind off Anya for generous fractions of the day. Georgi has his own individual style, a style of self-awareness Yakov has praised time and again: Georgi opens his heart to emotion. He lets emotion flow through him and express the power of the music. Emotions are good for you, and Georgi’s got plenty.

Across the room, Viktor curses quietly. Georgi’s eyes snap open. Viktor’s head is half in and half out of the skate bag as he searches for something his boyfriend must be missing. Georgi’ll never know peace. To distract himself from his own bruised heart, Georgi uncrosses his legs and speaks to Viktor directly, because years together in St. Petersburg have shown Georgi that Viktor rarely speaks unless spoken to.

‘What are you looking for?’

Viktor grunts, a refreshingly unsophisticated sound. Then he raises his head from the skate bag and looks at Georgi. ‘Hmm? Ah. Yuuri left his…’ He pauses, apparently adjusting to speaking Russian again. ‘I thought I might —’ and Viktor gestures vaguely at the skate bag, ‘— get it for him.’

Georgi blinks. ‘You _left_ him?’

‘Mmm,’ says Viktor, his eyelashes dropping low on his cheeks. ‘I shouldn’t hover.’

Georgi has always thought of Viktor’s mind as an icy and calculating intellect. Viktor is quick, focussed, relentless in his pursuit of perfection. Georgi _feels_ ; Viktor performs. Occasionally he’s suspected Viktor of stealing Georgi’s natural excesses of feeling to imitate in his own programs. They are the same age, after all, which is hard — for Georgi, that is. Viktor doesn’t seem to care about anybody. Georgi’s never bought into the shows of spontaneity, the blithe and empty-headed act Viktor puts on for the world. Viktor doesn’t do anything he hasn’t considered well in advance, and behind the safe enclosing walls of the St. Petersburg rink — among family and friends — he stops pretending to be anything other than what he is, a cold man with hard eyes.

But Georgi could be wrong about him. All of them could be wrong. As soon as Viktor figures out what your impression of him is, he starts performing that image for you, so you’re never sure if that’s really him or if he’s putting on a show for your benefit.

Now Georgi leaves off the thorny subject of Yuuri Katsuki, a subject none of the St. Petersburg crew can quite understand. Instead he asks: ‘Have you been thinking about new programs for yourself?’ (He adds the _for yourself_ because he knows Viktor will deliberately misunderstand if Georgi gives him the chance.) Viktor hasn’t abandoned the ice entirely; Georgi knows him better than that.

Viktor’s gaze flickers up from the skate bag. He’s pissed at Yakov, Georgi can tell. ‘Yes, I have.’ Georgi doesn’t blame Viktor for being upset: that little tirade was harsh even by Yakov’s standards. Still, Viktor’s always tended to take it better than the rest of them. His words are clipped, concealing that slick city-boy accent of his as much as possible. ‘Not this season, though — probably.’

Probably. That’s one better than the _never coming back_ bullshit Viktor sprang on Yakov the night he left. ‘Well, that’s good to know. It’s a shame we won’t see you back this season,’ says Georgi, relapsing into professional courtesy. ‘Shall I tell Yakov?’

Yakov would die for any scrap of news about Viktor, although he’d never admit it. Yakov doesn’t pay attention to the media frenzy surrounding Viktor wherever he goes — well, he reads the news articles scrupulously, but he doesn’t believe a word of what they say. No, Yakov wants to know the _real_ stuff. How Viktor looked. What he said in private to old rinkmates, Russians whom he trusts. Whether he’s been fretting over his weight again. Yakov, bless his heart, couldn’t keep a professional distance if his life depended on it. With the old man it’s always personal.

‘I’m looking forward to seeing your programs,’ Viktor says — instead of answering the _real_ question, damn him — as if Viktor hasn’t seen Georgi’s programs in practice at the rink a thousand times. He straightens up with a curved neck-pillow, the kind you bring on airplanes so you can sleep comfortably, in his arms. That pillow is huge. There’s no way it would have taken Viktor that long to find it in Katsuki’s skate bag. He’s been prolonging the conversation as long as he could, and now he’s signalling to Georgi that he’s done. His voice takes on a false light note, like the way Viktor smiled after Yakov shattered him in front of Georgi and Katsuki and everyone. ‘Could you tell Yura, when you get back —’

‘ _Vitya_ ,’ Georgi snaps, exasperated. Damn the man, they all expend too much effort on him. Georgi and Viktor are the same age, so there’s no call for Viktor to try his hand at manipulating his own rinkmate. ‘Can I tell Yakov you’re coming back sometime in the future? What do you want me to say?’

‘I only call him Yurio to his face, you know,’ Viktor murmurs, looking down at the pale grey neck-pillow he’s carrying. Viktor must have really missed speaking Russian. ‘Actually, I wouldn’t have if Yuuri’s sister hadn’t…’ He trails off again, and his gaze slips down and sideways. There’s a hint of hurt at the corners of his mouth. He’s clearly not thinking of the Katsukis. ‘Yura should do fine —’

‘Vitya, listen!’ Georgi interrupts in his best Yakov-voice. Viktor shoots Georgi a glance of barely veiled annoyance as he turns to go. ‘Shall I say you’re well? What can I tell Yakov for you, huh? Last chance!’

‘Tell him nothing.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only thing funnier than viktor and georgi having a SUPER AWKWARD relationship would be them secretly being drinking buddies who swap terrible dating advice, @ kubo what is the truth


	34. sleepy makeouts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> ‘Would you reconsider if I was sober?’ if you fancy it ❤️

They’ve kissed a dozen times before the Cup of China. Slightly more than a dozen, maybe — or, more likely, slightly less. Yuuri doesn’t exactly keep track. None of those count, anyway.

In Hasetsu, Viktor has a knack of letting the inn’s restaurant empty around him as the hours run late. He’s laughing into his glass, soaking the chilly night into his skin, as Yuuri fervently attempts to button up Viktor’s shirt.

‘Gonna be cold,’ says Yuuri, frantic, more than a little bit tipsy himself — he holds his alcohol better than Viktor, though. To be fair, that’s not difficult. Viktor seems to make a hobby out of dismantling Russian stereotypes. ‘Catch a chill — then you won’t be my coach—’

‘Why would I stop being your coach just because I got a cold?’ asks Viktor. He’s surprisingly coherent considering the number of drinks he’s had. But he sounds like he might be on the verge of crying, so Yuuri swipes at Viktor’s eyelashes with his thumb, desperately trying to dash away any stray teardrops and succeeding only in poking Viktor in the eye. Viktor’s slim beautiful hands have found their way into Yuuri’s.  _How did they get there?_  thinks Yuuri as he tries to stay upright.

‘No, no,’ Yuuri gasps. He doesn’t want to give Viktor ideas. ‘Please don’t. Please don’t stop coaching me.’

‘Please don’t ask me to stop coaching you,’ sniffles Viktor, and at the sound of this Yuuri slumps forward and buries himself in Viktor’s neck. Well. He buries his face there, anyway. Somehow Yuuri has his arms around Viktor’s waist. Viktor is so warm and liquid and well-fed, and Yuuri inhales to catch the scent of him, overlaid with alcohol and sweat.

Yuuri gently does up the buttons of Viktor’s shirt. Viktor looks down at his own chest in mild puzzlement as if he’s forgotten it’s there, although his hands don’t move to stop Yuuri.

‘Do you not want to see my nipples?’

This is not a conversation Yuuri has ever imagined having. ‘Viktor.’ Yuuri can’t help himself. ‘The entire world has seen your nipples.’

Viktor kisses the top of Yuuri’s head. Yuuri is so used to Viktor’s affection — hugs as a reward for good run-throughs, hand-holding on the way to the onsen, salt-sweet kisses on the temple — that he doesn’t even react. ‘Okay,’ says Viktor. He sounds more Russian now, without the full consciousness of his own words to tame his accent. Yuuri… Yuuri wants him so much it hurts. ‘So do you prefer my left nipple or my right one?’

Yuuri snorts with laughter before he remembers to be embarrassed and hides his face in Viktor’s shoulder. ‘Do you want to go to bed?’

‘ _Oh_ ,’ Viktor says, in such a delicate voice that Yuuri’s heart seizes up. He clutches the front of Viktor’s shirt.

‘No! No. I just meant… I mean, I’m tired. You must be tired. We should go to sleep.’

Viktor says nothing — or maybe he does, but Yuuri doesn’t catch it. The process of helping each other to their feet takes longer than you might expect. By the end of it, they’re teetering in the corridor between Yuuri’s room and Viktor’s, and the corridor is dark and cool. Yuuri can taste Viktor’s scent on his tongue, can drink in the ocean breeze drifting through the open windows. He can hear the soft noises of the house creaking as it sleeps.

‘Yuuri?’ Viktor whispers.

Yuuri leans forward. Viktor’s tilting his face up as Yuuri turns towards him, perhaps about to say something, probably just seeing something over Yuuri’s shoulder — their cheeks brush and one of them turns, or both of them turn their heads at the same time, and Yuuri’s mouth meets Viktor’s. Yuuri finds himself bending at the knees. He feels heavy and fatigued, and heat is rushing to his head, and Viktor seems to catch him. At least that’s what it seems like to Yuuri. Most likely, what happens is that they both collapse against the wall next to Viktor’s bedroom door. Yuuri’s sweat-sticky palms are cupping Viktor’s face, and Viktor’s head is tipped to one side — the angle must be hurting his neck — and he opens to Yuuri without hesitating, greedy, his tongue flicking out to spread sweetness into Yuuri’s mouth. Yuuri kisses him cautiously: little sips of warmth, nothing more. He tastes so good. They both taste the same. Viktor’s eyelashes tickle Yuuri’s cheek and Yuuri can feel Viktor’s eyes slowly opening as they pull apart.

‘Viktor,’ Yuuri says, not knowing he’s spoken until Viktor’s gaze flickers at the sound of his own name.

Viktor puts his arms around Yuuri now. He didn’t do it before, when they were actually kissing; he didn’t want to trap Yuuri. ‘Let’s sleep together.’

‘I’m way less drunk than you are,’ says Yuuri.

It’s a sign of how far gone he really is that Viktor doesn’t look hurt — that is, he doesn’t mask the hurt with his usual quicksilver expression. He just gazes at Yuuri, drowsy and warm. Impulsively Yuuri touches his fingertip to Viktor’s soft mouth. The way Viktor instinctively closes his eyes makes Yuuri’s stomach churn. 

‘Would you reconsider if I was sober?’

Yuuri cups Viktor’s cheek in his palm. Viktor turns his head, eyelashes dipping as he rubs his cheek against Yuuri’s hot skin, brushes his lips against Yuuri’s palm. His hair is tousled and damp. Yuuri loves him. ‘You know exactly what I’d say if you were sober.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #i know kubo said ep 7 was their first kiss let me have their sleepy makeouts#yuuri doesn't think they count because viktor kisses everyone#which is to say: yuuri and makkachin#kisses yuuri many many times#which has to mean none of them mean anything right?? right???


	35. more rinkmates au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is for you, cafecliche. someone save these children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [messy teenage disaster skaters](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NNxuI61ICmQ)

‘Hmm? No, I don’t have a girlfriend,’ Viktor tells the camera. He kisses the top of Yuuri’s head. Viktor is nineteen (barely), flushed with victory. Yuuri’s newly eighteen. Viktor has his long fingers tangled in Yuuri’s as he talks blithely to reporters, and Yuuri, young and defeated, dozes with his head on Viktor’s shoulder.

‘I want to go to the Olympics,’ Viktor is saying. His voice is low and sweet, sending vibrations through Yuuri’s temples. Viktor’s lips brush Yuuri’s hair again for the second time in as many minutes. Viktor’s won gold; Yuuri’s won nothing. The medal rattles, glinting, against Viktor’s chest as he shifts on the bench, his arm around Yuuri. ‘Yes. No, I don’t think so.’ Viktor wants an Olympic gold — he doesn’t need to say so to Yuuri. Yuuri knows it without asking. Viktor listens to the indistinct rumble of the interviewer’s voice, his head tilted slightly to one side. ‘Do you have any questions for Yuuri, or can he go on sleeping? He’s very tired.’

Yuuri’s only on camera because he’s rinkmates with Viktor. He just happens to be in the shot, that’s all. He wishes Viktor would stop drawing attention to him.

‘Mila and I are friends. We’re not dating,’ says Viktor. His fine hair brushes Yuuri’s chin as he dips his head to look at Yuuri. Eyes closed, Yuuri wonders why reporters keep asking Viktor such personal questions. It must be because Viktor is very beautiful.

* * *

‘My turn. _My turn now_ ,’ Yuuri insists, tapping Viktor’s shoulder until Viktor turns around to face him. To take revenge on Yuuri for being so relentlessly beautiful, Viktor catches Yuuri by the waist when he’s least expecting it and sweeps him up into the air. Yuuri, uncharacteristically, whoops; Mila applauds from across the rink. Yurochka, who pretends to resent being lifted over Viktor’s head and has been unsuccessfully trying to lift Viktor in turn for many months, sits down on the ice and sulks. Skating up behind him, Mila grabs Yurochka’s shoulders and wheels him in front of her as if he’s a push-cart. Yurochka yells and bats her hands away.

Having been set down gently, Yuuri picks up Viktor in turn. His hold is strong and sure and his smile bright as he gazes up at Viktor’s shadowed face, at Viktor spreading his arms to soar — Viktor never wants to come down. The junior skaters are lining up behind Yuuri like baby ducklings waiting for their turn, but Yuuri ignores them. He’s a heartbreaker oblivious to his own power. Viktor secretly prizes this quality of careless cruelty in Yuuri: he likes a boy who can do some damage.

Yuuri lowers Viktor delicately to the ice and they slide into a languid dance, skates crossing and movements interlocking. Yuuri’s hands are in Viktor’s and Viktor isn’t looking anywhere but at Yuuri’s face, which means they’re certain to fall at some point; they’re going too fast, and, sure enough, Yuuri slips and skids. Clumsy in his surprise, Viktor tumbles down on top of Yuuri. Yuuri huffs out a hot little laugh, his smile quickly crinkling into something sensitive and pained as he realises he’s been the first to fall. Yuuri _hates_ losing. But he looks so soft and touchable on the outside that Viktor can't resist him, and Viktor kisses his sweet mouth, lush underneath Viktor’s.

‘You two are in public!’ Yakov barks. ‘Get up! Get back to practice!’

* * *

'You don't... you don't deserve him,' Yuuri says helplessly. Too late he realises how hurtful that sounded, and he knots his fingers in Viktor's hair as though he can squeeze away the hurt in his clenched fists. 'I mean, you _don't_. You should have someone kind. Someone who treats you right.'

'I'm not kind,' Viktor points out, which is very reasonable and true. Yuuri can't disagree with that but he leans forward, leans over Viktor, cradling Viktor's head in his lap so that he can pet Viktor more attentively.

'You should stop dating people whom you know will hurt you.'

'You say that like it's _my_ fault,' Viktor snaps back. Yuuri loves him — loves him so much because he's harsh and spiteful, because he never accepts hard words he hasn't earned. Growing up around Mila's fearlessness and Viktor's temper, around Lilia who helps you channel your worst fears into music, has shaped Yuuri into a very different person from what he might've been otherwise. 'I don't go looking for cruel people.'

Viktor does, but Yuuri's not about to call him out on it. Instead Yuuri grabs a tissue from the box on the nightstand, dabs the tears from Viktor's stained face.

'There's Chris,' he suggests. 'Chris is nice. You can always —'

'I don't _want_ Chris!'

Yuuri throws back his head and sighs. He doesn't know how to soothe without hurting. 'I just meant—' He pauses, working out the words in his mind. 'I mean, there are plenty of people who'd want you if you let them.'

The question is, of course, whether Viktor really wants anyone. That's how things have always been: Viktor is adored and desired by everybody who's ever laid eyes on him, and Yuuri's just a number in the queue. Still, Viktor says stubbornly, 'Chris is my friend. I don't like him that way.'

Does that mean Yuuri and Viktor aren't friends, then? Yuuri lowers his head so their noses brush, and Viktor tilts his face up, childlike and trusting, sure of his welcome. His eyes are closed by the time he kisses Yuuri. Yuuri's stomach churns. He wishes Viktor would stop toying with him. But he'd never — he'd never tell Viktor to stop, for he can't lose this. He'll take any scrap he can get from someone like Viktor. Viktor doesn't care about anything outside skating, and Yuuri just happens to be conveniently near him. That's all. 

Viktor lifts his lovely eyelashes and his eyes flutter open so that Yuuri can see he's gone somewhere else in his head. At such times, Viktor loses interest three seconds in and waits patiently for the kiss to end. So Yuuri lets him go, even though Viktor bites Yuuri's lip savagely when Yuuri tries to pull away.

'You like me because I'm easy to kiss, right?'

Viktor's brow furrows. 'I don't understand.'


	36. more loch ness monster au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lavenderprose asked:
> 
> whispers hello friend I'm rereading your snippets fic and I know this was a Very Long Time Ago so feel free to not even respond but Loch Ness Monster Vitya? I love. It made me think about Lake Superior. Lake Superior is the largest lake in the world...famous for its shipwrecks...a quarter mile deep...However in the winter when it freezes all of the sediment settles to the bottom and the lake becomes mostly transparent, so Yuuri would def see Victor creeping on him from the Depths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i was  
> a young boy  
> my father  
> took me to lake superior  
> to see the loch ness monster

‘I—’ Yuuri squats down on his haunches, taking Viktor’s long-fingered hands in his own. Viktor’s skin is wet and nearly translucent, and there’s the faintest hint of webbing underneath Yuuri’s touch. His fingers splay wide, caressing Yuuri’s palms. ‘To be honest, I thought you were a hoax.’

Viktor tips his head to one side. Half of his body, rising from the clear water, is very naked; when Yuuri cranes his head slightly he can see the other half, blurring into soft and alien outlines against the rocks. ‘I don’t feel like a hoax.’

The voice Yuuri hears is low and very musical, another of the thousand sounds crinkling upon each other in the waves. It’s a voice with no age. They’re alone in the evening silence, and the sky behind them seems to rumble with the echoes of thunderstorms. Viktor’s eyes are a very bright blue.

Yuuri’s quite sure, although he doesn’t trust his vision much these days, that Viktor has feet. The rocks sucking at the tides gleam like rich jewels, and against the cliffs Viktor’s silhouette is the colour of sunset. He— ‘ _Are_  you?’ Yuuri asks before he can help himself. He bites his lip, but it’s too late to take back the words. ‘A he? I mean, I don’t know what to call you.’

‘I’m whatever you want me to be,’ says Viktor cheerfully. ‘I can change form, too. Do you want my skin?’

‘Your  _what_?’

Those slender, faintly webbed fingers wrap themselves ever more tightly around Yuuri’s wrists. Viktor wants Yuuri to trust him, to strip off the human shoes and step barefoot into the tide and come closer, closer, closer. Yuuri  _does_  trust Viktor. Yuuri’s just trying to hold on to the remnants of his heart which are still his own. ‘My skin.’

‘Viktor, you’re confusing me.’

‘So you can keep me,’ Viktor explains with the sort of dreamy, unblinking patience Yuuri supposes one might develop from haunting the world’s oceans since time immemorial. ‘So I don’t run away from you. Have you ever heard of selkies?’

‘But you’re not a selkie,’ Yuuri says.

‘I don’t know what I am.’ Viktor lifts a hand and places it against Yuuri’s face; Yuuri turns his cheek into Viktor’s palm, closing his eyes. ‘We could try. It might work anyway. I’ve never done this before, you see.’

‘I don’t want to keep you!’ Yuuri drops to his knees. Before he can stop to think about what he’s doing, he kicks off his sandals and dips his feet into the foam—just the toes at first, then all the way up to the ankles, fascinated by the swirling eddies of sediment. At the sight, Viktor’s tongue comes out involuntarily to wet his own lips before he closes his mouth again. ‘I don’t want to hold you with me like—like you’re my prisoner. Viktor, this isn’t Scotland. You’re in Lake Superior. I study in Detroit. You know Detroit? Michigan. America.’

‘Yee-haw,’ Viktor replies pleasantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #this is very cute op but I gotta tell you #detroit is nowhere near lake superior (@analogwatch)
> 
> i fucked up


End file.
